Retribution
by Josie Lange
Summary: As the Thaw after the Fifth Blight continues, Warden Commander Lhiannon Amell is pursued by forces known and unknown as she works to rebuild Amaranthine and the Grey Wardens. Sequel to Rend Asunder. Takes place after Awakening. Book cover is Lhiannon's (wonderful!) image as drawn by the magnificent Seika. Visit her deviantART page at ht tp:/ ladyseika. deviantart .co m/
1. Memories

_A/N: This chapter is told mostly from Lhiannon's point of view and serves as a very high level summary of "Rend Asunder". This will get those of you who have read RA ready for "Retribution." If you have not read "Rend Asunder," there is far more in that story that is not referenced here; reading RA will make understanding "Retribution" easier. The story picks up a few weeks after the defeat of the Mother in the Dragonbone Wastes.  
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_As always, Bioware owns all. I'm just a fan with an imagination.  
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_Off we go!  
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"Commander, here are the latest reports on the repairs to the city of Amaranthine."

"Thank you, Varel. Prompt and efficient, as always. I don't know what I would do without you."

"You would most likely be buried in even more paperwork than you are now. Thankfully, Aura and I have worked hard to stay on top of all the requisitions. Will you be traveling to Amaranthine again soon, Commander?"

"Yes. It's been about a week since I've been there. I will most likely go within the next day or so. I just want to see the last of the walls finished here first. How is Delilah faring since Albert arrived? I haven't had a chance to speak with her for a couple of days."

"She does well, Commander; she is happy that her husband has arrived, but she is also quite anxious to return to Amaranthine. The goods that her husband has will help rejuvenate the business community."

"That's good news, Varel. If these reports contain what I hope they do, she and Albert should be able to return to Amaranthine within days."

"I am sure they will be pleased to hear that, Commander. For now, I shall leave you to your work."

"Thank you again, Varel."

_So much has happened in the last two years of my life. Two years ago, I had just gone through my Harrowing. Little did I know that my life would turn upside down from that moment on. That was when I met Duncan and learned about the Grey Wardens. Of course, I didn't think at that time I would actually _become _a Grey Warden. But, since I had helped Jowan destroy his phylactery, it was either let Duncan take me or spend time in Aeonar. The Grey Wardens appeared to be the better option at the time._

_After the disaster at Ostagar, Alistair and I worked nonstop to gather armies to battle the Blight. We had to deal with the civil war in the process too. It was stupid; we Fereldens should never have let ourselves get to that point. Had we been united in the first place, we could have turned the Blight back months before. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. We fought against Teyrn Loghain and his allies, throwing our lot in with Arl Eamon._

_Eamon…huh…if I could get my hands on you now…_

_The Landsmeet changed everything. It changed my life. I dueled Loghain, defeating him and accepting his surrender. To say Alistair wasn't happy with my decision is the understatement of the Dragon Age. He was prepared take the crown and execute Loghain himself when I invoked the Right of Conscription. Alistair was furious. I remember telling Loghain to get his affairs in order. At the time, there was a small part of me that wished he hadn't survived the Joining._

_I'm glad that he did._

_We left Denerim shortly thereafter. Loghain wasn't real happy with being a Grey Warden; he didn't trust them, especially after the stunt First Enchanter Remille pulled years ago._

_We traveled toward Redcliffe, stopping at the ruins of Lothering along the way. It was devastated. When we made camp that night, Morrigan approached me. She told me about what she had read in Flemeth's grimoire, and begged me to kill Flemeth before she could usurp her body and be essentially reborn. I spoke with Loghain about it and learned that he had met Flemeth once before when he and King Maric were running from the Orlesians during the war. When I told him that Morrigan wanted us to kill her, Loghain's eyes lit up. He was in agreement._

_While we were on the way to Flemeth's hut, Loghain and Wynne got into a huge argument about Cailan and Ostagar. I actually thought they were going to come to blows. I told them we couldn't afford to dredge up the past. After Wynne left __I told Loghain __that I didn't agree with many of his decisions, but I understood where his anger with Cailan came from. Loghain sneered at that; I decided to prove it to him by showing him Cailan's personal letters. To say Loghain was furious at what he read was an understatement._

_We reached Flemeth's hut a couple of days later, and she asked me what we intended to do, now that we knew the truth about her and Morrigan. I was about to answer, but Loghain did it for me; he had waited a long time for his revenge on Flemeth._

"_You die," was what he told her._

_Flemeth then shape shifted into a high dragon and attacked. She nearly got the best of us after chewing up Loghain and kicking Sten out of the way. Loghain's injuries were beyond my paltry healing abilities; Maker knows I tried to heal him before I called Wynne over to help. Wynne was healing Loghain, leaving me as the only one able to confront Flemeth. She turned to me and prepared to breathe fire on us. I did the only thing I could._

_I used blood magic and before long, Flemeth fell._

_When we neared camp later, Loghain asked me to go to Ostagar with him; he wanted to make peace with it, and that meant seeing it for himself. I reluctantly agreed. The trip was...different. Loghain was an enigma and I wished I could just figure him out for my own peace of mind. _

_I went to sleep that night, having another darkspawn nightmare and nearly rolled myself into the fire. Loghain gently pulled me back, keeping me safe. I told him to try and sleep himself, since I wouldn't be able to from then on. He grumbled about it, saying that if I had trouble, he'd also have trouble. But, he did eventually sleep, and as he slept, I watched him._

_Not in "on watch" either, but watched _him_. As I did, I realized something; his taciturn attitude toward me was changing. He was treating me with respect and courtesy. Perhaps there was a new understanding between us. _

_After Ostagar, we set off to rendezvous with the others. I remember that day very clearly; that was the day he started to really talk to me. Not all snarls and growls either. What surprised me was his offer to help me learn to use a sword, which I gratefully accepted._

_When we returned to camp, he gave me my first lesson in sword fighting. I had this cheap sword that sent annoying prickles up my arm whenever I hit something with it. Loghain looked at it and declared it inadequate. He returned to camp and brought a fine silverite sword for me to use. He began to teach me and as we progressed, something awakened in me, like memories. It was the arcane warrior memories from the phylactery I found. We decided to spar for a bit to test my emerging abilities. During that fight, I cut his arm badly. I ran a finger across the cut to heal it._

_I wasn't prepared for the lust that began to build within me. It was like my very being was lit on fire. I think he felt it too._

_A couple of nights later, I had a terrifying dream. Demons and darkspawn both tormented me as I slept. I awoke, half mad with terror and clawed my way out of my tent. Loghain and Sten were there and watched me with concern. I came to the fire and sat; Sten moved off to circle the perimeter of the camp. I had a weak moment then, perhaps my weakest moment of fear and doubt since becoming a Grey Warden. I didn't know how much longer I could go on. _

_I told Loghain I was scared. I was shocked when he told me he knew how I felt. I tried to keep from crying as my fear and doubt poured out of me, unstoppable. __That was when he moved to sit near me. As I cried, he reached over and tucked a small lock of hair behind my ear, telling me something I would never forget: "You are stronger than you think."_

_We made it to Redcliffe shortly thereafter, greeted by the darkspawn. We fought our way to the castle, where Riordan, Eamon, and Teagan waited for us. We learned that not only had the horde been marching toward Denerim and not Redcliffe as Eamon had insisted, but that the archdemon itself led the horde. They were two days from Denerim; too far to reach the city before the horde did. __It was decided to leave for Denerim at first light on a forced marched with what army we had. _

_Damn you Eamon…_

_I found that my friend, Jowan, was still imprisoned at Redcliffe Castle for his poisoning of Eamon. I asked to see him before we marched and that Eamon let me know when his execution was scheduled. I wanted to be there for Jowan. He was my friend._

_Riordan asked Loghain and I to meet him in his chambers before we retired for the evening. As we walked to Riordan's rooms, we both felt a sense of dread. That's when we found out the _real _reason Grey Wardens existed and what happened when an archdemon dies._

_The Warden dies too._

_I was devastated. I didn't want to die and I didn't want to see Loghain die, but knew that if we had to as our service to Ferelden, we would do it. It didn't stop the sorrow from nearly crushing me. _

_After the meeting, Loghain walked me to my room. As I entered, Morrigan was there, waiting. She had an offer…an offer to both destroy the archdemon and save the Wardens. There was a ritual that required her to be impregnated by a Grey Warden…Loghain. She expected me to convince Loghain to sleep with her. Morrigan said she didn't want to see me die, not when she could help me. She implored me to do this, to save both of us._

_So I did, Maker forgive me._

_I went to Loghain and told him of Morrigan's proposal. He wanted no part of it, saying if dying was part of our duty we should not shirk it. I just about lost it then. I couldn't watch Loghain die. Then he realized that I could have just ordered him to do it, but didn't, and he wanted to know why. What was I to tell him? Something in my face must have changed his mind, because he agreed to speak with Morrigan._

_Morrigan was waiting, all smug and satisfied. He looked at me for a few moments, pondering his decision. Something made him reconsider because he turned to Morrigan and told her to get it over with before he changed his mind. As they went to a more private place, there was no way I could lie or deny it to myself any longer: I had developed feelings for Loghain._

_I was sitting in the gardens when Loghain's voice startled me out of my skin. The deed was done. I had been worried about him. I felt like I forced him into it and that it was because of my own selfish needs…he had become important to me. _

_The next morning we made ready to leave for Denerim. I was nervous and feeling guilty about what happened the night before. As I was donning my armor, Loghain came to my room to see us on our way. When we turned to leave, he stopped me with a hand to my shoulder; he told me _I_ had become important to _him_ as well._

_We saw the archdemon for the first time as we approached Denerim. It was a terrible sight. Loghain, Wynne, Morrigan, and I fought our way through the city, dispatching the archdemon's generals as we made our way to Fort Drakon. Riordan went off on his own, trying to lure the archdemon to a high point and goad it into a fight. When we next saw him, he was leaping off a tower to land on the archdemon. Riordan had to jump onto the dragon's wing to avoid being crushed into a tower. He tried hold on by stabbing his sword through the membranes of its wing. It didn't work, and all we could do was watch Riordan fall._

_We eventually made it to the roof of Fort Drakon and confronted the archdemon. As we fought, I felt my strength wane. Wynne was the only thing keeping me alive as I tore through darkspawn with my sword and with what magic I could muster. I felt Wynne's healing spells, but my injuries were piling up too fast._

_Finally, I saw the archdemon stagger. I _had_ to get to it; I _had_ to stop it. Feeling my impending death, I drove my sword through the archdemon's skull. Then, it went dark._

_I didn't know where I was. All I knew was that everything hurt. My eyes finally opened and I saw Loghain asleep in a nearby chair. I asked him if we really ended the Blight. He said _I_ did it and that it was both a beautiful and terrible thing to witness. He reached over and took my hand, holding it in his for a long time. He was supposed to fetch Wynne if I woke up, but I didn't want him to leave. He stayed. _

_I think that was when I fell in love with him._

_As soon as I was mobile, Queen Anora insisted I relocate to the palace to finish my recovery. __Soon after, she named Alistair crown prince of Ferelden, named me the Commander of the Grey Wardens and Arlessa of Amaranthine, and named Loghain Teyrn of Gwaren. My head spun. Not only did the Grey Wardens get an entire arling for their use, but I was now an Arlessa. Oh, the Maker has a sense of humor indeed._

_Loghain caught up with me later as I was in my chambers reading a book on Amaranthine. He was taking a quick trip to Gwaren before the coronation and wedding, and offered to take me with him so I could observe his court. I was excited; I had never been to that part of Ferelden before and Loghain was in high spirits as we traveled toward South Reach. We stayed at an inn there before continuing to the Brecilian Passage. As we finished our dinner, one of Loghain's injuries from the battle of Denerim flared up, causing his arm to go numb. I insisted on examining his injury and healing it. I massaged his hand as I chanted the spell; eventually my voice drifted off as I held his hand. I could feel the need and longing building up in me. He told me what we were doing was foolish, but he didn't sound like he believed it. I called his bluff. I told him that I didn't care, and I suspected he didn't either. I whispered for him to let go._

_And he did._

_I didn't sleep very well that night. I thought a lot about Loghain. I wanted him, body and soul. I strongly suspected he felt the same way. I wanted to discuss what happened and Loghain said it was, perhaps, a mistake. I was stunned. He was lying to himself, I knew it, but he refused to see. He filled an empty space in my heart; I _wanted_ to take the chance with him. In the end, I told him that I hoped he wanted to take a chance too, but that no matter what happened, I wanted to remain friends; I valued his friendship a great deal. He agreed, saying the bonds of friendship between us could not be broken. It wasn't what I wanted to hear. _

_We finally reached Gwaren and I met his seneschal, Thorne and was reacquainted with Ser Cauthrien. The day was busy in Gwaren, observing how Loghain and Thorne went about daily business. That night, however, was hard. It seemed all the sadness came back at night. _

_Loghain held court the next day; Thorne was at my side explaining the intricacies of procedure and governance. His advice was beyond measure. After court, we went to Loghain's office, where he was setting seal to the documents detailing the day's proceedings. That was when he gave me Spellweaver, the sword I carry at my side to this day. I was confused and suspicious; why would he give me such a valuable item? He told me it wasn't a bribe; it was a "thank you" for everything I had done for Ferelden. For him. I kissed his cheek lightly and stepped back, thanking him for the gift. _

_That was when he reached out for me, placing his hands on my waist and drawing me closer. I almost cried; he was tearing my heart to pieces. I begged him to either pursue what was clearly between us or let me go. I was shocked when he told me that he was a fool; he never wanted to hurt me._

_He just wanted _me.

_I let him take me. It was after that, as we gazed at each other, that he said it at long last: he had fallen in love with me. And I with him. _

_Needless to say, the trip back to Denerim was far more pleasant than the trip to Gwaren. When we arrived in Denerim, Loghain found out that not only were we expected to be at the wedding, coronation, and victory parade, but that Anora had a ball planned. The wedding and coronation went off without a hitch. We suffered through the parade, Loghain taking great pleasure in my discomfort. Insolent man. __The ball came that night and I found myself a nervous wreck, but I survived…barely. _

_The next morning, we met the Queen in her study, where she told us that the Seneschal of Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine requested that we come right away. The Grey Wardens from Orlais had arrived and were looking forward to helping us rebuild the order. But first, Anora had a matter to discuss with us._

_Our secret was out; one of Anora's ladies saw Loghain and I steal away to his chambers the night before. She asked me what was going on between us. I told her I loved Loghain. Anora turned to Loghain and asked if it was true; he simply said yes. Anora accepted our relationship and bid us farewell, as we should make haste for Vigil's Keep. Once the King found out about our relationship, he would likely want our heads on pikes._

_We left with a prospective Grey Warden, Mhairi, for Vigil's Keep. As we approached the fortress, Mhairi became nervous and wary. The other Wardens should be welcoming us, yet no one was there. It was clear why moments later: darkspawn. _

_We found the fortress overrun with darkspawn when we arrived. We also found something I never expected: my close friend, Anders. He joined us in the fight and as we continued on, we found Oghren there as well; he wanted to become a Grey Warden. Stranger things have happened, I suppose._

_As we fought our way through the fortress, we came upon a soldier that told us of a talking darkspawn. It had gone after the Seneschal. We quickly raced to help the Seneschal, hearing the talking darkspawn say it wanted the Grey Wardens captured. I'm not ashamed to admit that this talking darkspawn made me really nervous._

_It was after the ensuing battle that we met Varel for the first time. I knew then that he was something special, a keystone to rebuilding the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. As we talked, he pointed out riders on the road headed directly for Vigil's Keep. We hoped that these visitors were more friendly than the last._

_Not exactly._

_It was Alistair and his guards that approached, their haste obvious. I wasn't sure if this was a good sign or not at first, but it quickly became clear that the real reason Alistair came to Vigil's Keep was not to just give us our orders to rebuild the Wardens—which he did—but to berate me for my relationship with Loghain._

_The conversation ended just as a templar was trying to drag Anders off for being an apostate and murderer. I had to invoke the Right of Conscription, which did not sit well with the templar, a woman named Rylock. She didn't want to allow it, but Alistair said he would just before he took his leave. Varel took us into "The Vigil", as he called it, so we could perform the Joining on our three candidates. While Oghren and Anders survived, Mhairi did not. _

_It wasn't long before my first fire to put out showed itself in a prisoner named Nathaniel Howe. He said he wanted to kill me as revenge for killing his father, that greasy snake Rendon Howe. So I did what any good Commander does; I invoked the Right. He survived the Joining and has become one of the very best of us._

_We soon traveled to Amaranthine. Constable Aidan told us of the smuggling problems within the city and asked us to help. We spoke with the head of the Merchant's Guild, Mervis, regarding the smuggling problems. He told us of the issues in the Wending Wood and we decided to make that our next stop. We also ran into Nathaniel's sister, Delilah Howe. They had a long discussion that left Nathaniel confused and melancholy. _

_When we arrived back at Vigil's Keep, we discovered that letters arrived from Denerim while we were gone. One had the royal seal and was a summons for court. The other had Anora's personal seal, asking Loghain and me to arrive before the formalities so the King and Queen could speak to us privately._

_We began our trip to Denerim: myself, Loghain, Anders, Nathaniel, Captain Garavel, and a number of the Vigil's soldiers. On the way, we would investigate the problems plaguing the caravans traveling through the Wending Wood. It wasn't long before we found smugglers picking over a burning caravan. __We had come upon a rickety bridge crossing a chasm when suddenly a panicked man ran across and stopped in front of us. He was a smuggler fleeing from an elf that he said was making the trees come alive. As he ran off we heard a rustling sound from the ledge above and turned to see a Dalish elf glaring down at us. She made Morrigan look perky. The elf snarled at us, telling us to leave before she set upon us like she had the humans that kidnapped her sister and killed her clan. I offered to help find her sister in exchange for safe passage but the elf refused, bringing the trees to life around us._

_She raged at us until I showed her an elven trinket we found on a group of darkspawn we had defeated. She recognized the trinket as belonging to her sister. I told her that it was the darkspawn, not the humans, that ambushed and killed her people and as Grey Wardens, we would find out why the darkspawn were here. She introduced herself as Velanna and asked to accompany us. Well, maybe ask isn't the right word; _demand_ seems more appropriate._

_There was an abandoned mine nearby; if the darkspawn were anywhere, it would be there. We entered the mine, carefully descending to the bottom of the shaft. A glyph suddenly appeared under us, paralyzing us in place. That's when we heard footsteps approaching and saw two creatures observing us. One had been a dwarf. The other was an emissary of some type. It waved its hand at us, casting a spell. Our eyes grew heavy and before I fell unconscious, I heard it speak one word: "sleep"._

_When I woke up, I was terrified. I was chained to a table, unable to move. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw a creature standing at a worktable. It called itself the "Architect", and actually apologized for what it had to do. _

_The next thing I remember was waking up with my head in Loghain's lap. He was looking at me with concern, but it softened when my eyes locked on his. I told them what had happened to me and of the creature that had done it. We were looking for a way to escape when Velanna's sister Seranni entered the room and opened the cell. The Architect had corrupted her. Velanna begged Seranni to leave with us, but she refused, telling us that we could find our equipment with the experimental subjects. We took advantage of Seranni's help, finding our equipment and eventually making our way to a large chamber. The Architect was there with Seranni and the dwarf. He summoned two dragon thralls to distract us as he escaped. That was when Velanna demanded to take the Joining and become a Grey Warden. We were still too few, so I accepted her offer._

_We left the mine, continuing our trip to Denerim. When we arrived, Anders and Nathaniel stayed at the Grey Warden compound while Loghain and I went to the palace. We immediately went to see Alistair and Anora. An heir was on the way.  
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_The next morning found Loghain and I preparing for court. We couldn't wait to see Eamon's reaction to recent events. Teyrn Fergus Cousland stopped us in the hall however, launching himself at Loghain and demanding to know why he set Rendon Howe on his family. _

_When the formalities of court began, Fergus and Loghain gave their oaths as Teyrns and I gave mine as Arlessa. I thought that would be that, but several of the nobles began to protest Loghain being named Teyrn again. They wanted him to hang. The atmosphere quickly deteriorated and I knew I had to do something. I got the shouting blowhards' attention with a small peal of thunder and flash of lightning. I told them that we needed to stand together to rebuild our country and our lives, and that Loghain had my unwavering support. After a few more hours with the necessities of court, Loghain, Teagan, and I gathered up Nathaniel and Anders to head to a tavern in the palace district._

_We took our seats, Teagan waving for a round of ale. The server brought it to our table, setting the tankards in front of us. I took a long sip of mine; it tasted like someone hadn't rinsed out the tankard completely after washing it. When my throat started to close and my hands shake, I knew it wasn't soap I had tasted. _

_The next thing I remember was opening my eyes when I felt the bile rising from my stomach. I lurched out of bed, my hand covering my mouth. I saw that I was in Loghain's chambers and quickly went to the basin near his tub and heaved my guts out. I thought I was alone until someone gently pulled my hair back as I continued throwing up. It was Nathaniel. Anders heard us from the next room and came in. They told me what had happened and where Loghain was. I ordered them to take me to Fort Drakon; I was ready to do everything short of blood magic to get the suspect to tell me why he poisoned me and who ordered him to do it. Afterwards, I was anxious to get back to Amaranthine._

_We returned to Vigil's Keep and performed Velanna's Joining, which was a success. Varel told me that his sources discovered that a meeting of the conspirators was to take place in a couple of weeks at an abandoned farm in the arling; we would be paying them a visit, for certain. Varel also said that darkspawn had been spotted in the Knotwood Hills by a couple of hunters._

_The hunters told us what they had encountered: a cave and a large number of darkspawn that ignored their shouts for help. We found the cave at the bottom of a chasm and as we entered, we found that it wasn't an ordinary cave, but part of the Deep Roads. As we continued farther in, we heard sounds of a struggle and saw the darkspawn dragging a female behind them as they traveled. We rushed forward, defeating the darkspawn and helping the woman, a dwarf named Sigrun. She believed broodmothers were there, breeding an army. We found the broodmothers' lair and killed them. After that, we made haste out of the Deep Roads._

_We headed back to Vigil's Keep and, of course, problems were waiting for us when we arrived. An angry crowd had gathered outside, whipped up by the conspirators. I spoke to the crowd, defusing the situation without need for violence. That's when Varel told me Bann Esmerelle and some of her lackeys were waiting for us inside, apparently spoiling for a fight as they were dressed in their armor. Well, who am I not to give someone a fight if they are asking for one? After dealing with Bann Esmerelle, Varel prepared Sigrun's Joining. I was ecstatic; she made it._

_It was almost time for the conspirators to have their little meeting at the Stark farm, and I hoped to break the conspiracy once and for all. The conspirators put up a fight and very nearly killed Loghain in the process. We defeated the group of conspirators, even taking prisoners. We found letters on one of them, giving him his orders to do me harm. Though someone took pains to try and alter it, we could see the seal of Redcliffe on the paper._

_A letter from Redcliffe arrived soon after and my heart sank. I knew what it was before I even opened it: Jowan's execution date. I wanted Loghain to go, but Anders said the trip would be too trying. I would miss Loghain terribly while I was gone. He asked me to hurry home and I was going to do my damnedest to do so. Little did we know that things were brewing in Gwaren that would demand Loghain's personal attention._

_We made haste for Redcliffe. When we arrived, I asked to see Jowan, but Eamon said no, that I would have to wait until morning. Bastard. Eamon had a banquet for us that evening. While Sigrun and I went to dine with Eamon's people, I set Nathaniel to work, searching the castle for documents similar to the ones we had confiscated from the Stark farm._

_Dinner; oh boy, was _that_ ever one to remember. I mentioned Loghain during a conversation and Isolde went nuts. She raged against me sparing Loghain's life and called me a dirty whore before she slapped me. I was finished with the Guereins for the night after that._

_Nate and Teagan both found incriminating documents within the castle that pointed to Isolde. We needed her make a move and I knew just the thing: I would invoke the Right of Conscription for Jowan. It set Isolde off into a fit of rage. Eamon was also angry, telling me that I was to perform the Joining and leave. No one was more anxious to put Redcliffe behind than I was._

_I was awakened that night by a small sound in my room…soft boots shuffling on the ground. Someone was in the room with me besides Sigrun. A shrouded figure attacked; I saw Sigrun grab them around the waist and fling them to the ground. The commotion brought Garavel and Nate from the next room, along with some of the Redcliffe guards. I demanded that the guards wake the Arl. When Eamon arrived, we pulled the shroud off the intruder's face and found Isolde snarling back at us. I ordered that Isolde be packed up and taken with us to Vigil's Keep. With the dawn, we were on the road for home while Garavel and his men headed for Denerim with the news._

_When I saw Vigil's Keep come into view, I thought it never looked better. I was so excited to get home…and to see Loghain again. As the guards took Isolde to the dungeon, I ran up the steps to the Vigil, excited to see everyone again._

_I didn't see Loghain. Worse, I didn't feel him. Varel beckoned me to his office, where he told me that Loghain had gone to Gwaren. I was angry; why the hell would Loghain run off to Gwaren? That's when Varel told me the conspirators tried to gain a foothold there._

_I set about seeing what fires needed to be put out in our absence. Aura, the wife of an Orlesian Grey warden, came to my office with concerns about her husband, Kristoff. He had gone to investigate reports of darkspawn in the Blackmarsh and had not returned. I agreed to search the area right away and find answers for her._

_As Sigrun, Anders, Nate, and I prepared to leave, Garavel and his guards returned, saying the King and Queen would arrive in two weeks for Isolde's trial. Not only were they coming, but Eamon, Teagan, and Teyrn Fergus Cousland were expected to attend. Varel began preparations as we headed for the Blackmarsh._

_We found Kristoff's body near the ruins of a small town, along with scores of darkspawn. He had died fighting them. As we prepared to leave with Kristoff's body, a talking darkspawn, the First, appeared. Kristoff's body was a trap. The First told us "the Mother" would not let us further the Architect's plan and as we watched, it sundered the Veil and threw us into the Fade. As we awoke, the First got quite a surprise; his magic brought him into the Fade too. He ran off, vowing vengeance on the Mother. We moved toward the village in the distance, hoping that we could find a way out of the Fade there._

_We found a crowd gathered outside a large manor. At the head of the crowd was a figure in resplendent armor. It was a Fade spirit, one of justice, and it was trying to challenge the Baroness that ruled the village. She emerged from her manor with the First, telling him she would send him back to our side of the Fade if he defeated us. He attacked. We defeated him and he begged to be sent through the Veil. The Baroness agreed, but used his life force to power the spell._

_Rain was falling on us as we awoke. Something still felt strange, like magic was in the air. Suddenly, Kristoff's body began to move. I'm not ashamed to admit that it both frightened and repulsed me. The Fade spirit had taken over Kristoff's body. It told us that the Baroness was still very much alive, but that in our realm, it would be something far more dangerous that what we encountered in the Fade._

_He was right. The Baroness was really a pride demon, the largest one I had ever seen. It took all our abilities to fight the creature, but we survived. After the battle, the spirit, who called itself Justice, wanted to return to the Fade but I didn't know how to do it. That's when Anders told me that he was a Spirit Healer, a special type of healer highly desired by the Circle because they have benevolent Fade spirits that will come to them in times of need._

_Anders asked Justice if he wanted to return to the Fade; he did. With the rest of us standing guard against any demons that wanted to crash the party, Anders sundered the Veil, returning Justice to the Fade. After Justice left Kristoff's body, we gathered it up and returned to Vigil's Keep. I gave Aura the sad news and told her we would have a funeral for Kristoff as soon as she liked._

_I also found out that while we were gone, Velanna had convinced Jowan to teach her blood magic. I wasn't real happy about that, but there was little I could do._

_Loghain wasn't back yet, and that fueled my already melancholy mood. I wanted nothing more than a meal, a bath, and perhaps an entire bottle of West Hill brandy in which to drown myself. I fell asleep at some point to be awakened by knocking on my door. I was ready to lay into whoever it was disturbing my brooding and my sleep. I was ready with an admonishment when I opened the door._

_It died on my lips._

_It was Loghain. He was back and I felt my anger fade. Oh, how I had missed him. I found myself in his arms, trying to pull his shirt over his head when he stopped and stepped back. I started to worry…I could feel something strange in the taint and I could see his hands trembling. They never trembled and my heart started to sink…until he pulled a ring out of his pocket._

_I said yes._

_We caught each other up in the morning with our various trips to Redcliffe and Gwaren. Unfortunately, we discovered that we were likely not done with the conspirators yet, as it had been implied to both of us that there were yet others out there._

_The King and Queen arrived at Vigil's Keep a couple of days later, preparing for Isolde's trial. As I was presenting the Grey Wardens to them, Alistair told me he brought extra guests. I was elated when I saw Leliana and Zevran. It became clear later that evening why they came; Leliana wished to take the Joining. She survived. Zevran told me he would not take the Joining, but vowed to help me build the order. I gratefully accepted._

_Fergus Cousland, Eamon, and Teagan arrived the next day for Isolde's trial. When it was called to order, Isolde and Eamon both protested Alistair and Anora hearing the charges, citing bias. Loghain couldn't hear them, as he was a material witness, so it fell upon Fergus to dispense justice. Isolde, of course, denied everything. But then suddenly, her tune changed. I was stunned. I couldn't believe that she was suddenly telling the truth. Her admissions were so unlike her…_

_Then I caught it: blood magic. It was coming from where the Wardens stood. It had to be either Velanna or Jowan and I wanted to take them both out behind the Vigil and flog them until they screamed for mercy._

_Isolde was found guilty. Fergus sentenced her to death, but said that if she cooperated with us and told us of her coconspirators and their plans within one month, she would be remanded to prison for life. Alistair accepted his judgment and Isolde was whisked away to the dungeon, Eamon hot on her heels. Eamon's culpability and actions before the battle with the archdemon would have to be addressed at the next Landsmeet._

_After the trial, a snowstorm fell upon Amaranthine and stranded our guests. Well, except for Eamon. He headed out into the storm, deciding that he'd rather take his chances moving to one of the outlying villages rather than stay at Vigil's Keep one more second. I wasn't sorry to see him go._

_All of us were in the dining hall, enjoying each other's company. Next thing I knew, Alistair and I had a duel set and a bet in place. The Queen invited others to join us and before long, an entire tournament was planned for the next day. It lasted most of the day and I think everyone had a really good time._

_Dreadful news came not long after the fun of the tournament: the Mother's army had invaded Amaranthine. I took some of the Wardens, Alistair, Garavel, and a few men to Amaranthine to try and reinforce what soldiers were there._

_Amaranthine was all but gone already. Oh Maker. The darkspawn had invaded using the old smuggler tunnels, laying waste to the city and the population. As we prepared to enter the city, a sentient darkspawn appeared: the Messenger. He had been sent by the Architect to warn us that the Mother's army was approaching Vigil's Keep. We had to warn them. I wanted Loghain to go, but he and Alistair both protested. I was smaller and lighter than they, even in my heavy armor. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to leave the citizens of Amaranthine to die; they were my people and I _had_ to help them! But damn them both, Alistair and Loghain were right._

_I was so afraid. Afraid for the city. Afraid for my friends. Afraid that I would lose Loghain. I didn't want to leave him._

_But I did._

_It felt like an eternity before the gates of the Vigil came into view. The dread was quickly rising as I could hear the darkspawn approaching. I ran inside, warning the Vigil of the impending attack. We prepared as quickly as we could._

_Loghain, Alistair, Nathaniel, and Anders were able to clear the darkspawn out of Amaranthine, but at a terrible price. Most of the city was decimated; they ended up having to burn a great deal of it. To make matters worse, the Revered Mother told Alistair to pray for forgiveness from the Maker; she thought the invasion a 'trial' sent by the Maker because the Crown made me Arlessa of Amaranthine._

_While they were fighting in Amaranthine, we had our hands full with the darkspawn at the Vigil. The reinforcements had not arrived when the attack began and I worried that there would be nothing left by the time they got here. As we fought, Varel gathered the soldiers around him, fighting like a man possessed and inspiring the others around him…_

_Then the ogre came._

_I heard it roaring and by the time I turned, I saw that it had picked up Varel and squeezed him until his bones shattered and his body was crushed. I was horrified; I was watching my dear friend die. I screamed, trying to cast any sort of healing spell to help save him. It was a futile effort; my spell wasn't going to be strong enough. That was when I heard someone shout my title. I looked up and couldn't believe my eyes. Loghain was back. He shouted for Anders to hurry over to Varel and the next thing I knew, Anders was gently brushing me aside and chanting his own spell. Anders' Fade spirit helped heal Varel; Anders nearly died in the process._

_It seemed to take forever, but we finally pushed the darkspawn back. Those of us in charge of the Vigil met shortly thereafter to make plans for the future. We had to deal with the Architect and the Mother. We learned that in the chaos of the battle, the prison had been damaged and that nasty harpy Isolde escaped. We're still looking for that bitch. The Messenger would lead us to the Mother's lair the next morning. Anders was still too weak to go and I wanted to leave Nathaniel in charge while we were gone. That meant Sigrun and Velanna would accompany Loghain and me to deal with the Mother._

_We had little problem following the trail the darkspawn took when they fled Vigil's Keep. It led to a place known as the Dragonbone Wastes. We entered the tower known as Drake's Fall and encountered Velanna's sister, Seranni. She was more darkspawn than elf now. Seranni's words were like a siren song for Velanna; she was torn between what she obviously saw in her corrupted sister and her plea for Velanna's help_

_We fought our way through the tower, down multiple sets of stairs and fighting teeming masses of darkspawn. Finally, we reached a door at the end of a causeway. The feeling of wrongness beyond the door was almost palpable. I looked through the door and past Loghain, gasping at what I saw: the Architect._

_He told us about his experiments to break the call of the Old Gods on his brethren. As he spoke, Loghain suddenly came to a horrifying realization: the Architect was the one who found Urthemiel and tainted it, unleashing the Fifth Blight on Ferelden._

_The Architect saw my betrothal band and tried to convince me to allow him to "help" me conceive a child, thinking it would be the key to freeing the darkspawn. As if I would _ever_ willingly help the Architect in such a manner. Loghain was prepared to attack the creature when Velanna stayed his arm, begging us to help the Architect in the hopes he would free Seranni. We refused and fought the Architect. As Loghain and I closed in, it unleashed a spell that threw us away from it, damaging the structure and raining masonry down on us. Utha was able to drag the Architect through a doorway and escape._

_Loghain dragged me out of the chamber as the ceiling fell around us. We continued along the causeways, finally coming to a large chamber lit in a sickly green glow. Within the chamber sat the Mother, the largest broodmother we had ever seen. She was insane, telling us about how the Architect freed her from "the beautiful music": the call of the Old Gods. All she wanted was to hear the song and all _we_ wanted was to stop her from breeding. She screamed and unleashed her tentacles and children upon us._

_We fought for some time, battling her tentacles and children with magic and steel. It was Loghain that dealt the killing blow, thrusting his sword through the Mother's face and ending her corrupted existence. It wasn't how I would have done it, but it was nonetheless effective._

_As we left the Dragonbone Wastes, Velanna demanded that we continue the search for the Architect and Seranni. Loghain and I told her that Amaranthine was the most pressing issue now; the Architect had fled into the Deep Roads and the taint had grown quiet. She wasn't happy with the situation, but acquiesced._

_Loghain and I went to Amaranthine soon after the battle with the Mother. The city had been devastated and I knew much work was needed there. I pledged supplies and coin from Vigil's Keep to help. Seeing all that devastation made me feel like a failure._

_I should have done more._

_Loghain and I returned to Vigil's Keep, where I briefed Varel and he the Wardens on what we observed in Amaranthine. What I didn't know was that Loghain had arranged for the kitchens to make my favorite meal to soothe my weary spirits. I think he just wanted to seduce me to make me forget my troubles; it worked, for a while anyway. I still feel…_

The brush of lips on Lhiannon's skin brought her attention back from outside the window; through the reflection on the glass, she saw Loghain's dark head leaning down over her from behind, his lips softly pressing against the skin of her neck. Lhiannon shivered.

_Maker's breath, that gets me going every time. I love him so much…_

* * *

_A/N, the sequel: I'm excited to get to play in my own sandbox now, without most of the confines of the games. I'd like you all to pick up your shovels and join me in the sandbox; though I have many ideas of where this story will go, you as readers also help shape the story with your ideas, reviews, and pointing out areas for improvement. If you could review the chapters (or PM me if you feel so inclined), I would greatly appreciate it. Your reviews often trigger new ideas, help me expand the story, or help improve the flow of the story. So, join me in the sandbox, won't you? :)  
_

_This chapter was originally over 17K words...yikes! So, out came the "Delete" key, my hockey stick, a chainsaw, and a photon torpedo (for you Star Trek aficionados out there, like me). I'm hoping that this will be the longest chapter in the story, but you never know. :)  
_

_Thanks to everyone following along once again. I have high hopes for this story and I hope you will continue to enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it.  
_


	2. Lessons Learned

"You looked lost in thought," Loghain hummed into Lhiannon's neck as his lips lightly skirted her flesh. She felt a shiver run down her spine; Loghain's kisses to her neck did that to her every time. Her arm came up to wrap around his head, her fingers buried in his hair and gently scratching at his scalp.

She smiled, a small upturning of her lips that Loghain saw in the reflection of the glass she stared out of. She had smiled so rarely these last few weeks that he saw each one as a precious gem. "I _was_ lost in thought," she said, the weariness evident in her voice and in how she held herself. Loghain knew that she tried to keep a brave face on when dealing with the others in Vigil's Keep, but the instant she thought no one—especially Loghain—was looking, she dropped the pretense and allowed her weariness and despair to show.

The decision to burn Amaranthine continued to weigh heavily on her. Loghain knew that Lhiannon felt an incredible sense of guilt at the burning of the city; it had been the most difficult and devastating order she had to give thus far in her station as Commander. She felt she could have, and should have, done more for the city and its people. In reality, there was little that could have been done. The Mother's army thoroughly devastated the city with their sheer numbers and exceptionally virulent Blight disease. Only the lucky survived. Many of the buildings that had survived the initial assault had to be burned anyway; it was discovered that many had bodies of the dead inside, corrupted beyond recognition. Rather than risk new occupants being exposed to the Blight disease, the buildings were burned.

Most of the Grey Wardens had been to Amaranthine at some point in the last several weeks. It took several days to find and burn all the darkspawn bodies; the air filled with a dark, oily smoke and the rank smell of burning corruption. The corrupted buildings were burned next. After the buildings were burned, Wardens had to remain on watch to make sure the corruption had been completely destroyed. Anything that showed lingering signs of corruption was burned once again, this time with magical fire from the mages. There were several days where all of the mages were left exhausted both physically and mentally from creating so much magical fire. Thankfully, their efforts had paid off; the corruption had been stopped and it was safe for soldiers and civilians to begin clearing the rubble and make plans to rebuild. Several areas of the city not as severely damaged had recently seen repair efforts begin.

Vigil's Keep had been made the staging ground for relief and rebuilding supplies being sent to Amaranthine by land; by sea, the port was open and manned by Constable Aidan's militia. In the days after the fires raged through the city, Loghain had suggested that the road leading from the Vigil to Amaranthine be closed; the last thing the arling needed was looters trying to pillage what was left of the city and possibly coming out with the Blight disease before the corruption and bodies had been dealt with. Lhiannon thought it a sensible precaution and left Loghain in charge of the affair. He had posted soldiers along the road, both to protect the caravans with needed supplies as they approached the city and stopping the curious and opportunistic travelers who inquired after Amaranthine long before they arrived at her gates. Due to Loghain's dogged determination to protect the caravans, reports of bandits were few.

The walls of the city had been repaired in short order due to the efforts of the soldiers stationed near the city. Within two weeks, the walls had been patched up and secured the city once again, lending a sense of accomplishment to those who worked on it; that sense was sorely needed, as there was still so much to do. Building supplies were steadily coming in and the rough skeletons of buildings were beginning to take shape. Most residents were urged to stay with relatives outside the city during that time; the population of Vigil's Keep had swelled with the influx of survivors. The hearty, or stubborn, few that refused to leave were given tents for shelter, opting to battle the cold near their homes than to be separated from them. A small camp was established just outside the city in an area where the corruption had not taken hold

Loghain pulled away, taking Lhiannon by the hand to lead her toward the door. "Come," he said briskly, the voice of command that Lhiannon had heard so many times before. "You have not eaten all day. The kitchen is holding a plate of food for you."

Lhiannon shook her head, motioning to the ever growing pile of paperwork, requisitions, and requests for updates from Denerim that littered her desk. "I'm not hungry. Besides, I don't have time. There are four caravans scheduled to arrive tomorrow with supplies for Amaranthine. I need to compare what they have with them to the lists of goods that are needed there…"

"Lhiannon, you do the people of Amaranthine, the Grey Wardens, and yourself a disservice by running yourself so thin," Loghain groused, motioning to the paperwork on her desk. "You hardly sleep and eat even less…"

"How am I supposed to eat and sleep when the people of Amaranthine are _suffering_?" she asked indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. Loghain could see the thinness of her body through the tunic she wore; it hung off her where not long before it gracefully hugged her curves. "The people there sleep in _tents_, for Maker's sake! It's _winter_ Loghain! They are freezing and have barely enough food to eat! They need their homes and lives rebuilt as quickly as possible."

Loghain turned and pointed to the mounting work on Lhiannon's desk. "And you think you will make the best decisions while you yourself are exhausted and starving?"

Lhiannon looked at Loghain with narrowed eyes. "What else am I to do, Loghain? I need to get help to Amaranthine and its people _now_. Maker's breath, I ordered that the city be burned! The least I can do for them is devote my time to rebuilding it as quickly as possible." She pointed to a separate pile of parchment on her desk, standing nearly an inch high. "Do you see these letters, Loghain? These are from the _people_, begging me to help them. Most just want to get back to their normal lives. Others are from all across Ferelden, begging for information on family members." She lowered her hand, sighing and rubbing her forehead to try and will away the dull pain that had settled in there. "And yet others are from those who are angry with me, thinking I brought this upon them by accepting the Crown's decree that I should be Arlessa."

"Chantry foolishness," Loghain growled. "Dissention spread by those who see nothing but what the Revered Mother and the Chantry wish them to see."

"They also need to be taken care of so that they don't become an issue, and that means I have to do it personally. I need to show them that I have their best interests at heart. That I'm not some Tevinter magister wannabe who thinks nothing of blood magic and domination."

With an exasperated sigh, Loghain turned and walked to the map of Amaranthine that was mounted on the wall of Lhiannon's office. A smudge was still there from where they had made plans to raid the Stark farm months ago. The road between Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine had a number of small marks at regular intervals; they represented the small groups of soldiers that lined the closed road. Another mark outside Amaranthine indicated the small tent city that some of the city's population were currently living in. Loghain continued to stare at the map for a moment, the silence creating a chasm between them. He walked to the door and ran the bolt before he turned once again to Lhiannon, his eyes narrowed yet full of concern for her.

"Lhiannon, if you do not start taking better care of yourself, I'll ask Anders to declare you unfit for duty. You cannot continue on your current path."

Lhiannon's head whipped around to glare at Loghain, her ire beginning to grow. She saw the deep concern in his eyes and felt her anger trying to melt away, but she refused to let it. This was _her duty_, Maker damn it, and she _must_ see this through. Loghain saw the hard look in her dark eyes and steeled himself for her anger.

"_You wouldn't dare_, Loghain Mac Tir," she hissed at him, her hands curling into fists and bright red splotches blooming on her cheeks. "I am the Commander here," she growled through gritted teeth, her fists pointing to her chest emphatically. "This is _my duty_ and as you are fond to say, I will not shirk it."

Loghain took a step closer, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He did not take such an action lightly and he had hoped Lhiannon would not force him to act, but it was clear that she would likely leave him little choice. "_Try me_, _Commander_. These are difficult decisions that require all your faculties to make them; trust me in that. You cannot fulfill your duties to those you are responsible for if you cannot take care of yourself first. That is _my _duty as your Second. If I see that you cannot fulfill your duties because of impairment, I _must _take action. You _need_ to care for yourself better. Not only as Arlessa and Commander, but for yourself." Loghain paused, taking deep breath and willing his features to soften. "And for me."

"You _will not_ supplant me," Lhiannon growled, her hand coming once again to her forehead in a futile effort to will the pain away. She did not want to cast a healing spell on herself now while she and Loghain were having this discussion; she did not want to convey any sort of weakness. The eye that was not blocked by her hand glared at Loghain angrily.

Loghain willed himself to remain calm; her outburst was a result of her exhaustion and feelings of failure, not a personal attack against him. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm. "Regardless of what you think, Commander, _I do not seek to supplant you._ My only motivation is to see you acting in the best interests of this Arling, and you cannot do that in your present state.

"I will not stand by and watch you waste away in your pain and grief. When Rowan died, I allowed Maric to wallow in his grief, barely running the nation we all worked so hard to rebuild. You have tried to hide your pain and grief, pouring yourself into your work with blatant disregard for your own well being. I did Maric a disservice by allowing him to wallow in his grief, and I have done you a disservice by allowing you to bear the burden alone rather than insist you share it among those of us that are willing to help."

Loghain watched as Lhiannon's face began to soften slightly, her eyes wide and her hands held out as if in pleading. "Loghain, I ordered the city to _burn_…and I've had to live with myself every day. How many innocent people did I sentence to their deaths that day?" Her voice drifted off and she brought a hand up to her face, trying to stop the all too frequent tears from flowing. They were frequent to her as she only let them fall when she was alone. She had not wanted to burden others with her pain, guilt, and shame. They were the result of her actions and she would bear them alone.

"I have had to make such decisions before; I have been in your position, as you well know," Loghain said, moving in long strides to stand before Lhiannon with his hands on her shoulders. "You think that by throwing yourself into your duty tirelessly, without pause, you can somehow atone for what you had to order. Lhiannon, believe me when I tell you that such obsessive attention to duty while burying those feelings can turn you bitter in time. These are decisions that _must _be made and you must learn to make them and then live with that decision...and yourself."

Lhiannon hung her head low, knowing that the walls she had built to protect herself from the pain and guilt of ordering Amaranthine's destruction were about to fall away. Loghain continued to look at her, his cool gaze demanding that she share her pain and reconcile herself and her decision. She brought her gaze up and met his; the concern in his eyes was great. Her guilt came rushing out in a torrent, sundering those walls as if they had never existed. She brought her hands up to her face and began to sob, her body wracked with the force of her crying.

Loghain pulled her close, letting her sob into his chest. "Do you not think we see your pain, Lhiannon? We, your Wardens, want to help. Let us share this burden. Together we can accomplish more than one alone."

"But..."

"No 'buts'," Loghain gently, yet firmly admonished. "It is time you turn your pain into strength. You must learn to live with what had to be done. It is also time for you to delegate some of those tasks of rebuilding, be it to myself or the other Wardens."

Lhiannon's sobs quieted as she clung to Loghain. He was right, of course. She needed to turn her pain into strength; she would accomplish nothing in her current state. She would have to come to terms with the decision to burn the city; it was a part of her now and wallowing in her grief and remorse did nothing to improve the situation. She pulled back, wiping at her eyes with the heels of her hands; tears, now, would be fewer. They would still come as she finished grieving over her decision, but they would fade.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at Loghain. "Perhaps you are right. I have neglected myself these last few weeks. I had wanted to travel to Amaranthine again; I understand some areas of the city are nearly ready for repopulating again…"

Loghain took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at her as he opened his mouth to protest. He was stopped by Lhiannon's gentle fingers on his lips, the light pressure stilling their movements. "However, my Second tells me that I must begin delegating duties lest I be labeled unfit for duty," she smirked, a wry, sad grin crossing her face. "And perhaps he is right."

"_Perhaps_ he is right?" he scoffed beneath her fingers, a brow raised in questioning.

Lhiannon sighed, pulling her fingers away from his lips to brush one of his braids behind his ear. "Yes, perhaps he is right. I know that Delilah and Albert are looking to return to Amaranthine; I think it will soon be safe for some of the residents and businesses to return to the areas of the city that weren't so heavily damaged. I'm sure Nathaniel would be more than happy to escort them home and check up on things for me."

"Indeed," Loghain agreed, holding his hand out to Lhiannon. She reached out and took his, allowing him to weave her arm in his and lead her to the door. He ran the bolt back, pulling the door open for his betrothed. "Now, I believe I spoke of dinner for you," he said, pulling the door shut behind him to lead her to the kitchen.

* * *

The reports from Amaranthine did indeed give Lhiannon the news she was waiting for. Parts of the city were ready for the residents and businesses to return; first among them were the streets surrounding the home of Delilah Howe. The Merchants' Guild had already reopened and was awaiting the arrival of the businesses that had been established around it. Loghain had looked up from where he sat at his desk across the hall when he heard Lhiannon's hands clap together and an excited shout reach his ears. She was standing at her desk, parchment in hand and a large smile on her face.

"Wonderful news, Loghain. Parts of Amaranthine are ready for the residents and businesses to return."

Loghain rose from his chair, crossing the hall to enter Lhiannon's office, the outermost room of their shared chambers. He took the report that Lhiannon handed to him, quickly perusing it before handing it back to her. "I shall have the road to Amaranthine reopened, but I think it is still prudent to have soldiers patrol it for the time being."

With a quick nod, Lhiannon gave her assent. "I agree; those caravans are still too tempting for the fools that wish to try and turn a quick sovereign." She swiftly bounded around her desk, giving Loghain a quick hug. "Let us call a meeting of the Wardens and give them an update."

Soon after, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden were assembled in the audience hall in Vigil's Keep. Nathaniel, Anders, and Jowan stood in a loose semicircle, chatting amongst themselves while they waited for the others to arrive. Lhiannon had noticed that Jowan had been very quiet and pensive over the last few weeks, ever since the incident with blood magic at Isolde Guerein's trial. Now that she had escaped during the chaos of the darkspawn battle to Maker knows where, Jowan's melancholy demeanor had intensified. Lhiannon had tried to talk to him on a number of occasions, but was rewarded with little more than small talk. She had hoped Anders and Nathaniel would be able to bring him out of his doldrums, but it looked as if they were having little success. Both Anders and Nathaniel were becoming worried about Jowan's increasingly glum and distant demeanor and could not understand why; neither one knew of Jowan's actions during the trial, and Jowan's change befuddled them.

Velanna, the caster of the blood magic spell during Isolde's trial, stood off to one side perusing a novel she removed from a nearby bookshelf. She had been cold and distant to Lhiannon since the battle with the Architect. Velanna had wanted to help the Architect in the hopes he would free her sister, Seranni, from whatever corruption or influence the creature had over her. The other Grey Wardens—Lhiannon, Loghain, and Sigrun—had vehemently opposed the Architect and fought the creature to stop its plans. Velanna was still angry with Lhiannon, thinking her Commander short sighted. Seranni occupied her thoughts constantly and Velanna had tried to think of some way, _any way_, to free her from the Architect's influence. The feeling of urgency...that something was coming to a head...never left Velanna's mind.

Sigrun stood with Leliana and Zevran, giggling madly at something Zevran had just crooned into her ear; no doubt something laced with generous amounts of innuendo. Sigrun's laugh carried through the hall like a refreshing breeze on a hot summer day. After a moment, Oghren joined their small circle, his own form of innuendo causing the other three Wardens to immediately groan loudly and roll their eyes.

Loghain and Varel flanked Lhiannon, ready to conduct the meeting with her. Lhiannon held up her hands, imploring for quiet and bringing the meeting to order. "We have just received word that several parts of Amaranthine are ready for the return of residents and businesses. Thanks to all of you for your hard work."

A murmur of approval went up from the Wardens; Lhiannon immediately pointed at Nathaniel when she saw him about to speak. "Nate, I know Albert and Delilah have been anxious to return home. Their neighborhood is one of the areas that is ready."

"That is excellent news, Commander," Nathaniel grinned. "I would like to take them back to Amaranthine as soon as possible."

"That is exactly what you will do," Lhiannon nodded, turning her attention to Leliana and Zevran. "I would also like the two of you to accompany Nate. Once Albert and Delilah are home, the three of you are to get updates from the other parts of the city: the docks, the Chantry, and the central area of the city that was burned. Let me know what the status of the repair efforts are."

"Of course, _mia cara_," Zevran crooned, a swarthy grin and wink crossing his face. Leliana also emphatically nodded her agreement. She and Zevran had not been on a mission for the Grey Wardens outside the Vigil since her Joining and she was most anxious to become a productive member of the order.

The outer doors to the Vigil opened and a lightly armored scout entered the audience hall. Lhiannon and Varel were about to call out but Loghain stopped them with a hand, obviously recognizing the scout as he entered. "What is your report?" he said to the scout as he drew close and saluted. The scout glanced warily at the group of Wardens around him as if reluctant to speak in front of them. Scoffing, Loghain made a 'hurry up' motion with his hand. "What you have to say can be spoken of in front of those gathered here."

"Very well, Warden," the scout began, returning his gaze to Loghain from the others. "We have scouts placed within the major settlements in Western Ferelden. Others are posted along the main roads. The King has also sent men to watch the roads and major settlements in the east."

"Isolde?" Varel asked, turning his gaze to Loghain, who nodded at the Seneschal. "Yes," Loghain began, "we have not had any credible sightings of her since she escaped during the battle with the Mother's army. A few rumors, but nothing certain. I suspect she has found shelter among Eamon's friends and allies."

Lhiannon looked to the scout. "Do you have men in Redcliffe? I can imagine Eamon keeping a close eye on any newcomers that appear to overstay their welcome."

"Yes, Warden Commander, but the scouts rotate often, never staying for more than a day or two. Warden Loghain made sure to instill that in us before we left."

Zevran had been nearby, his elven ears listening intently to the conversation. "I could not help but to hear your intriguing conversation. Perhaps an incentive could help find our wayward former Arlessa."

Varel looked to Loghain, his brows raised and arms crossed over his chest. "A bounty?"

"Would it even work, though?" Lhiannon asked, her gaze flitting between both Loghain and Varel. "She's likely to have found shelter with allies in western Ferelden or in the Bannorn; I doubt they would give her up unless we offered a ridiculous bounty. Even then, if they wish to curry favor with Eamon, they won't give her up." She paused for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. "Would she even _go_ directly to Redcliffe? I mean, that is the most obvious place we would look for her and I'm sure that she realizes that."

A dark look crossed Loghain's features. "There are many in western Ferelden loyal to Redcliffe; Denerim might as well be on another continent. I can imagine the Arl would consider meeting her wherever she found a place to hide," Loghain speculated, his hand rubbing his chin in thought. "He would likely give her money and supplies, and instruct her to keep on the move so we cannot keep up with her whereabouts. There are scouts disguised as merchants posted in the areas around Redcliffe, instructed to discretely follow the Arl if and when he leaves. So far, we have not received reports that he has ventured out of Redcliffe."

"Isolde can't run forever," Lhiannon said, sighing heavily at the thought of the scheming former arlessa free and on the run somewhere in Ferelden. "And Eamon is not inconspicuous enough to meet her openly. She'll _have_ to settle somewhere, eventually. Could she hide within the Chantry? Pose as a cloistered sister?"

Loghain rubbed his chin in thought, another scowl crossing his face. "Though she likes to portray herself as a pious Andrastian, I think she is far too conspicuous to hide out in a Chantry; many would recognize her if she mingled out in the open. I think it more likely that she will head for relatives or the Chantry in Orlais."

"The Chantry would give her aid and succor there," Leliana agreed, moving forward with her arms wrapped around herself. "There are still many in Orlais who see Ferelden as a wretched, backwards country and they will pity Isolde for remaining chained to a Ferelden for so long." Lhiannon heard the slight growl from Loghain; the last thing he thought of Ferelden or its people was 'wretched'. "No offense, of course," Leliana quickly amended when Loghain's icy glare fell upon her.

"We won't be able to touch her if she crosses into Orlais," Varel said, nodding his head in thought. "I think, perhaps, that is were she will eventually go. Even if the King sends a request to the Empress for Isolde's extradition, I doubt it will happen; there is no such agreement between our nations."

"Empress Celene certainly won't turn Isolde over if there is a death sentence for her here," Leliana added. "She will seek to protect her fellow Orlesians."

Loghain returned his attention to the scout standing before them, who was patiently awaiting his instructions. "Send word to the guards at the checkpoint along the Imperial Highway at the border with Orlais. They are to closely watch traffic moving into Orlais. They are also to watch the countryside surrounding the highway in case she tries to cross the border over land. Detain her on sight. Until you have heard from me, your other orders stand as well; watch the roads and the major settlements for those matching her description. Watch the Arl and his known allies. Report anything suspicious, no matter how minor you think it may be."

After giving Loghain a crisp bow, the scout turned and hurried out of the audience hall, eager to fulfill his orders.

* * *

With a loud sigh, Lhiannon dropped herself onto a sofa while Loghain lit the wood in the fireplace in their quarters. It had been an exhausting day, full with everything from status updates on Amaranthine to requisitions for the Vigil itself. She was glad to finally rest her weary self, both physically and mentally. If only she could have a few days to simply rest and rejuvenate her spirits with Loghain at her side, without worrying about rebuilding efforts, conspirators, or the Thaw.

When he finished lighting the fire, Loghain turned toward the sofa, picking Lhiannon's feet up off the seat so that he had a place to sit. He lowered himself onto the cushions, placing Lhiannon's feet on his lap and absentmindedly stroking her skin. He tipped his head backwards to rest on the cushions near his neck. Lhiannon watched his face soften as he closed his eyes, content to rest near her.

"There is one thing we haven't discussed very much as of yet," Lhiannon began, moving across the sofa to snuggle into Loghain's side. He pulled her onto his lap instead, her arms wrapping around his neck as she settled her head onto his shoulder.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Our wedding."

"Ah, a pleasant subject then," Loghain smirked. "Unless that is you plan on inviting most of Ferelden to attend."

"I don't have any blood family to speak of. I haven't seen any of them in half my life or better," Lhiannon said. "The only real family I have is here among the Grey Wardens. I'd rather we were married here at Vigil's Keep."

"A simple ceremony, then?"

"I think that would be best," Lhiannon agreed. "I have no need for masses of attendants or overly done pomp and circumstance."

Loghain chuckled, turning and placing a light kiss on the crown of her head. "Here I was worried that you would want an indulgent affair."

Lhiannon scoffed slightly, running a fingertip along the skin exposed through the opened laces of his longshirt, tracing his collarbone and along the hollow of his neck. "Mages are not encouraged to marry, so I've never dreamed of large, opulent weddings."

"Thank the Maker for small favors," Loghain chuckled, the sound a deep rumble in his chest. Lhiannon giggled along with him and continued to trace his skin for a moment before she raised her head from his shoulder, turning so her eyes caught his. The grin that had been on her face fell away. "There is, however, a serious topic we must discuss regarding our wedding."

"Oh?" Loghain asked, his brows furrowing. "What would that be?"

"We must decide if we are to live our married life in Gwaren as Teyrn and Teyrna, or here at Vigil's Keep among the Grey Wardens and as Arl and Arlessa." Lhiannon shook her head at Loghain, her gaze serious. "I would not have our titles or half of Ferelden separating us as husband and wife. We need to decide where we shall be."

Loghain nodded slowly, considering her words. "That is an issue we must consider, I agree. I assume that you have given this issue some thought if you are bringing it to my attention."

With a nod, Lhiannon began to tell him of her thoughts regarding their lives as husband and wife. She told him of where she thought they should be and her reasons for them. Loghain found her words and reasoning both compelling and not far removed from his own thoughts, for he had also given consideration to where they would reside and what their duties and responsibilities would be after their marriage. After some time speaking of the affair, they came to a mutual agreement.

"So, it is settled then?" Loghain asked, a smirk on his face as he tucked a lock of hair behind Lhiannon's ear. She nodded. "I believe so. We will have to inform the Alistair and Anora of our decision well in advance though."

"Agreed. When the next missive goes to Denerim, we should include our decision," Loghain said, his hand coming to cup one of her breasts as his lips lightly brushed her forehead. Lhiannon saw his eyes darken in want as he massaged her breast. "Now, what say you to practicing for the wedding night?"

Lhiannon stroked his cheek with her hand, moving to tuck his wayward braid behind his ear. She moved her hand to the back of his head and brought his lips to hers, kissing him softly. "Practice does make perfect."

* * *

_Well, here we go, officially in the sandbox! I'm both really excited and scared to death! No net! *gulp* Get thee gone, self doubt demon!  
_

_ Loghain is giving Lhi a wake up call this chapter...stop moping, deal with what you had to do, and move on. Tough love. As for what Lhi and Loghain discussed for the wedding...well, can't give EVERYTHING away just yet. ;)  
_

_It will be interesting to see how DA2 impacts all of us who have stories running on FF. I'm wondering how much tweaking I may have to do...but isn't that part of the fun?_

_Special thanks to my awesome reviewers Shakespira, PhoenixFawkes310, Aura of Darkness Night, Dante Alighieri, sleepyowlet (thanks for your help with the templar question!), TG2000, icey, Gene, and Arsinoe. You all rock!_

_BTW TG2000...I know you have demanded that I keep the mp3/CD player plugged in and rocking so I keep churning out the chapters (hee hee). Just in case you were wondering, here's what's been on the mp3 player: "Breath" by Breaking Benjamin, "In My Head" by Richy Nix, and "Knights of Cydonia" and "Uprising" by Muse. I think "Knights of Cydonia" may be a fitting theme for this adventure. The other songs were just what I felt like listening to. :)  
_

_Thanks to all of you who are reading, lurking, alerting, and setting the new story as a favorite. I greatly appreciate it!  
_


	3. The Visitor

It was a good sweat.

Loghain found himself in high spirits as he walked the halls of Vigil's Keep after a brutal, yet satisfying morning training new soldiers that had recently arrived at Vigil's Keep. After word spread that the Mother's army had devastated Amaranthine and that the Grey Wardens were able to hold off the darkspawn and defeat the monstrosity that led them, new soldiers had arrived at the Vigil in droves from all parts of Ferelden. Many simply had enough of the darkspawn ravaging the countryside and wanted to put an end to them. Others simply wanted to serve and help rebuild the arling that was headed by the Hero of Ferelden. Many of the new soldiers had never touched a sword or bow, let alone use one, and it fell to Loghain to get them into fighting shape. In a strange way, he had been pleased to see the recruits so unfamiliar with the weapons of war; that meant he, Maric, and Rowan had fulfilled their duty to Ferelden. These soldiers never knew what it was like to be under an oppressor's boot and be forced to fight at an early age, forsaking their youth for war.

It was, perhaps, the best duty Lhiannon had entrusted him with since becoming the Commander of the Grey Wardens. Loghain belonged on the practice field, honing the soldiers into finely tuned weapons, ready to defend their homes and country at a moment's notice. Ferelden had been weakened after the Blight, and Amaranthine doubly so after the fights with the Architect and the Mother; Loghain would see to it that the army was ready, telling the other nations of Thedas that Ferelden is and would be strong again. The addition of Aura to Vigil's Keep as a bookkeeper had helped Varel, and thus taken some of the nonmilitary requisitions and paperwork off Loghain's desk; Loghain was not sorry to see the paperwork go.

The sweat was still rolling down his neck and back, though not in the rivers it had been not long ago. His hair was dampened by the work and locks of it were plastered to his face, the remainder of it hanging in damp clumps past the tops of his shoulders. His muscles would likely ache from the exertion for a couple of days, but it would be a good ache. He wanted to feel that ache; the training and its aftermath made him feel _alive._ The padding under his armor was damp and was beginning to chafe uncomfortably near his joints. He was ready to clean up and change into his more comfortable leathers for the day.

He climbed the stairs that lead to both his and Lhiannon's offices and the quarters they shared. As his footsteps echoed through the halls, he could hear voices from Lhiannon's office. She was speaking to those who would be traveling to Amaranthine in her stead today: Nathaniel, Leliana, and Zevran. Loghain had been pleased that Lhiannon decided to delegate that duty to the other Wardens. Loghain knew that Nathaniel would have insisted on accompanying her anyway so that he could escort his sister and brother-in-law home, but it was good that Lhiannon finally saw that trying to accomplish everything herself would eventually grind her to pieces.

"Nate, you're in charge while you're in Amaranthine," Loghain heard Lhiannon say as he drew closer to their chambers. "Take Delilah and Albert home first, then go about completing the other tasks that I'll set you on."

Loghain entered Lhiannon's office and moved toward the door to their chambers, nodding a greeting to those gathered as they turned to acknowledge him. He left the door partially open between the office and their chambers, wanting to keep an ear to the conversation. He began peeling off his armor, placing the pieces on the nearby stand as Lhiannon continued giving her instructions to the others.

"Make sure that when you're in Amaranthine, you check all these places," he heard Lhiannon say, then heard the opening of a desk drawer and the rustle of parchment as she must have handed them a sheet. "Here is what I want you to check on while you're there. Cross them off the list when you are done so you don't forget anything…"

Loghain could not help the bark of laughter that escaped his lips as Lhiannon spoke to the Wardens and Zevran. Her voice stopped and silence reigned for a moment before Loghain heard her call out. "Did you find something entertaining, Second?"

With an amused snort, Loghain draped the last of his padding across the armor stand and moved to the adjoining door. He appeared in the doorway between the office and living quarters, leaning up against the jamb and crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at the others assembled and saw smirks on their faces. Loghain turned to Lhiannon. "Are you to pin notes on their chests so that when they get to Amaranthine, Constable Aidan can guide them to the right places?"

Lhiannon rolled her eyes at Loghain, scoffing lightly as the others snickered at Loghain's quip. "I do sound like a mother hen, don't I?"

"Oh, indeed," Loghain said, earning nods of agreement and snickers from those gathered.

"I think I know Amaranthine rather well, Commander," Nathaniel grinned. "I was gone for some time, but surely I can get us to the docks and to the Merchants Guild without asking for directions too many times."

"And if we do, perchance, get lost, we need only head north or east," Zevran said, his brows rising as he looked at Lhiannon. "Surely the water will stop us from wandering too far in those directions, yes?"

Leliana giggled. "And certainly the Chantry won't be hard to miss. A large building with Andraste's flame emblazoned on the front. I could be mistaken though; perhaps that will be a tavern instead."

Lhiannon shook her head, turning to look at Loghain, pointing a finger at him while a wry grin crossed her features. "See what you have started? I hope you're happy."

"I am," Loghain grinned, nodding to the other Wardens before turning back to their chambers to take his bath.

* * *

"Maker's mercy," Delilah breathed as Constable Aidan waved them through the gates of Amaranthine. Where before a number of buildings lay just inside the walls of the city, there were large expanses of open ground, the ground lay bare right to the dirt. Many landmarks within the city were gone: The Crown and Lion, The Wonders of Thedas, and many homes of her friends and neighbors.

Nathaniel led them through the city with Leliana and Zevran at the rear of their small party. As they turned onto the street with Delilah and Albert's home, Nathaniel could hear her great sigh of relief as she saw the buildings on the street mostly intact. A few small shops and homes had been destroyed in the darkspawn siege, but most of the street lay as it always had.

As the party reached Delilah and Albert's house, Nathaniel bid his farewells as Zevran and Leliana looked about the neighborhood. The grocer had reopened and was restocking his shelves as they passed. They could see Mervis of the Merchant's Guild setting out his fabrics for sale. Zevran leaned up against the side of Delilah's house, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a deep breath through his nose. He grimaced slightly and made a light sound of disgust, which drew Leliana's attention.

"What is it, love? Is something amiss?"

Zevran waved a hand about, indicating the area around them. "Do you not smell that? It is the fragrant bouquet of darkspawn entrails in the air."

Leliana furrowed her brow, deeply inhaling as a thoughtful look crossed her face. She shrugged her shoulders after a moment. "No, I really don't smell anything other than the salt of the ocean on the breeze."

"Well, trust me _mia cara_. It is a smell most foul. I hate when it gets on my blades. It takes forever to remove their stench." Zevran paused, watching as few people were on the streets of Amaranthine. Most appeared to be regular citizens, but a few looked to be soldiers or workers from the docks delivering supplies to various locations around the city. "At least we shall not have to worry about pickpockets now; there are so few people here that they would certainly stand out."

A few moments later, Nathaniel approached Leliana and Zevran, ready to do the duty that Lhiannon had entrusted to them. He reached into his pocket and brought out the slip of paper that Lhiannon had given them, earning laughs from the other two rogues. "Let's start out at the Chantry, shall we?"

Nathaniel, Leliana, and Zevran walked through the city toward the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer, stopping occasionally to speak with residents and workers that were busy rebuilding the many homes and businesses destroyed in the city. It made Nathaniel's heart heavy, seeing his homeland so utterly devastated by the Mother's army. It made him more determined to see Amaranthine rise from the ashes and it appeared that many of the residents felt the same way.

As they reached the top of the steps leading to the Chantry, Nathaniel turned around and used the higher vantage point to survey the city. The area surrounding the Chantry had been hardest hit; there were many plots of open land that were still bare to the ground. This was where the corruption and blight disease had been the most severe; it had taken the mages several days and a great deal of mana and magical fire to completely cleanse the area. Nathaniel thought this would be the last place to rebuild, as it held the most horrific memories for the residents. He would not be surprised if the land here lay open for some time.

"_Mia cara_," Zevran crooned to Leliana as she reached for the handle of the Chantry door. "I shall wait out here for you, yes? I do not think the Revered Mother will be extremely happy to see a tattooed heathen darkening he halls of her precious Chantry."

"You mean you don't want to see the chaste and virtuous sisters inside?" Leliana smirked, indicating the door with her hand. Zevran and Nathaniel both chuckled. "No, I think the Revered Mother would question the strength of the Chantry's rafters if I went inside. The sisters will have to do without me; it is a shame, really," Zevran smirked.

With a nod, Leliana and Nathaniel entered the Chantry. The sisters had been diligent in keeping the inside clean, but it was clear that some damage had been done during the invasion of the darkspawn army. Several of the stained glass windows had been broken and covered with planks of wood and there were still some faint stains on the floor, most likely blood from those who sought refuge here.

Nathaniel, upon looking around, remembered the cryptic words the Revered Mother had spoken to King Alistair when he was last here. She had told King Alistair to pray for the Maker's forgiveness because the darkspawn were sent as punishment for some of the Crown's recent actions. Nathaniel had thought long and hard about the Revered Mother's words, wondering just why she thought the Maker would do such a thing. Lhiannon had killed the archdemon and had been widely praised by a number of the Chantry's hierarchy for it. Perhaps today would be a good day to find out just what the Revered Mother meant.

They walked to the rear of the Chantry, past a number of citizens who were praying to the Maker and Andraste. Others simply sat in the wooden pews, eyes closed as if meditating. Nathaniel and Leliana both looked around for the Revered Mother, but neither one saw her. A number of priests and lay sisters were gathered in one corner; a tall, dark haired woman appeared to be the one in charge. Leliana drew close to Nathaniel, placing a hand on his arm and raising her lips up to his ear as he bent toward her.

"That is Sister Nedra. She and I were both at the Lothering Chantry for a time. She left just before I did; just before the darkspawn came and destroyed the city."

"Do you see the Revered Mother here? We need to have a discussion with her about her pronouncement to the King," Nathaniel said, looking about for the familiar figure in her bright robes. "Perhaps you can use your common Chantry background to gather more information."

Leliana nodded her head. "I have not seen the Revered Mother, but you are correct; we need more information. I'll go talk to Sister Nedra."

After Nathaniel nodded his agreement, Leliana moved off toward where Sister Nedra was speaking to several of the other women. As Leliana approached, Sister Nedra's eyes fell upon her, widening in recognition.

"Leliana! What are you doing here in Amaranthine? I didn't think anyone survived the darkspawn attack on Lothering!" The Sister moved forward, gathering Leliana in a warm hug.

Leliana stepped back, holding Nedra out at arms length in examination. "Nedra, you look wonderful!" she gushed. "I left Lothering just before the darkspawn arrived. I was traveling with the Grey Wardens."

"The Grey Wardens?" Nedra said, her brow furrowing and her voice dropping low. "You traveled with the mage? The one called 'The Hero of Ferelden'?"

"Well, yes," Leliana said, confusion in her voice at Nedra's tone. Nedra sounded almost scandalized by learning that Leliana and Lhiannon had worked together to defeat the Blight. "I was with her when we fought the darkspawn in Denerim. You must know that she was the one that killed the archdemon." Leliana thought about disclosing her status as a Grey Warden, but her bard training told her to wait. Something was not right with Nedra.

Nedra leaned in closer, looking at Leliana suspiciously. "Why are you in Amaranthine, Leliana? Are you here with that mage?"

_That mage?_ "No, I heard about what the darkspawn did to Amaranthine and I wanted to help," Leliana smoothly fibbed, hoping the look on her face showed sincerity toward Nedra. "I still follow the Maker's will, Nedra. I want to help the poor souls here. They have suffered greatly."

Nedra gently grasped Leliana's arm, pulling her toward the corner where they could talk more privately. Leliana glanced over toward where Nathaniel was perusing a bookshelf in a corner alcove; he had spotted Leliana's movements and was watching carefully out of the corner of his eye. Leliana relaxed, allowing Nedra to pull her aside.

"Don't go to Vigil's Keep, Leliana," Nedra whispered in her ear. "The Revered Mother will be very angry to hear that a devotee of the Chantry went there."

"Why would she be angry?" Leliana asked, her confusion genuine.

Nedra scowled. "The Revered Mother believes that the darkspawn attack on Amaranthine was punishment from the Maker. She believes that the Maker has punished us because the King appointed a mage as Arlessa."

"'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,'" Leliana said, the dread beginning to settle into her stomach. "Transfigurations, chapter one, verse two."

Nedra nodded emphatically. "Yes, Leliana. The Revered Mother left to meet the Grand Cleric of Ferelden over a week ago. They are going to the Grand Cathedral in Orlais to meet with the Divine."

"The Divine?" Leliana asked, her brow furrowing. "What for?"

"I don't know for certain, but I'm sure it had to do with recent events. I'm very concerned for the Revered Mother; she's been so _obsessed_ with this."

"What about you, Nedra?"

Nedra shook her head slowly before shrugging her shoulders. "I always liked the Arlessa. I met her once not long after she visited Amaranthine for the first time. She helped Amaranthine recover from the smugglers and the Blight. I understand she was heartbroken over what happened to Amaranthine." The Sister sighed sadly, bringing her hands to her face and rubbing her nose in weariness. "I don't know what to think, Leliana. The Maker helped her end the Blight, so why would He send the darkspawn to destroy Amaranthine? Is it truly because she was named Arlessa? Why would He send her to save Ferelden and then punish us for her leadership?"

Leliana shook her head slowly. "I don't know, Nedra. I'm also sure that the Arlessa was very upset over what happened to Amaranthine," she said sadly, still not wanting to let Nedra know that she was closer to Lhiannon and the Grey Wardens than she let on. This was news that needed to be taken back to Vigil's Keep as soon as possible.

"Nedra, I must go now, but I'll be back to see you soon, yes?" Leliana said, grasping Nedra's hands in hers and giving them a gentle squeeze. Nedra nodded and smiled. "Maker's blessings on you Leliana. I hope to see you soon."

As Leliana turned from Nedra and moved toward the door, she caught Nathaniel ghosting her movements out of the corner of her eye. He stopped to peruse more bookshelves as Leliana moved through the door to the outside. Zevran was sitting on the low stone wall overlooking Amaranthine, turning as he heard the door open and close behind him. The look on Leliana's face immediately made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"_Mia cara,_ what troubles you?" he asked, quickly and lithely moving to Leliana's side and placing a hand on her elbow. She shook her head emphatically. "Not yet. Once Nathaniel arrives, we need to start moving. I'll explain on the way."

Moments later, Nathaniel emerged from the Chantry and quickly moved to where Zevran and Leliana waited for him. He knew before she even left the Chantry that she had been told something disturbing; he did not need the taint to sense it. "Leliana, what is it?"

Leliana moved them toward the steps, quickly descending them and moving to the street. She began to lead them toward the docks, which would be their next destination. Thankfully, the area of Amaranthine they traveled through was almost devoid of others, so she quickly recounted the story Sister Nedra told her. When she finished, both men had concerned looks on their faces; the tattoos on Zevran's face stood out in stark contrast against his pale skin.

"We need to quickly get an update from the docks and then make haste for Vigil's Keep," Nathaniel said, picking up his pace toward the docks so that both Leliana and Zevran had to jog to keep up with his long strides. "The Commander needs to know that trouble could be brewing with the Chantry. Just what she needs; a bunch of tub thumping zealots stirring up trouble."

* * *

The Wardens arrived at the docks not long after. The docks were down at the bottom of a small hill, a number of vessels moored among them. Workers could be seen moving goods off a number of ships into a nearby warehouse. As they watched, a smaller slip gently glided into a dock near the end. A deckhand leaped off the boat and onto the pier with a rope in his hand, quickly and efficiently securing the boat. As he tied the rope, a gangplank lowered from the boat onto the pier and several people began to descend it. They looked like passengers, likely residents that had been displaced from Amaranthine either during the Blight or the more recent affairs. Many people from Ferelden had fled to the Free Marches during the Blight, so cargo ships were often used to ferry passengers as well.

Leliana suddenly gasped at the sight of a thin, dark haired woman that had just stepped onto the pier and hefted a small pack onto her shoulder. Leliana quickly jerked Zevran and Nathaniel around the corner of a building next to them, her eyes wide as she peered anxiously around and swore softly in Orlesian.

"What are you doing?" Nathaniel hissed quietly. "What is it?"

Leliana's wide eyes flicked from Nathaniel to Zevran; the elf watched as Leliana's face blanched noticeably. "Marjolaine. She just stepped off that boat."

"_Braska,_" Zevran snarled, quickly peering around the corner to see where Marjolaine moved to. She was still on the pier, apparently negotiating the remaining fare for her trip to Amaranthine. Zevran quickly moved back behind the building.

"Who is Marjolaine?" Nathaniel asked, his eyes narrowing at Leliana, who had recovered from her quick loss of composure. Her face turned hard and Nathaniel could sense the anger rolling off her.

"Marjolaine was my mentor and employer in Orlais. She was betraying Orlais and using me to do it. She told the authorities that _I _was the traitor. I had to flee Orlais, which is how I ended up in the Chantry in Lothering." Leliana's face grew dark and her jaw clenched in anger. "I told her to stay out of my life. I should have just killed her," Leliana ground out.

"Then why is she here?" Nathaniel asked, glancing around the corner to observe Marjolaine's movements. She was still talking to the man on the docks.

"If she is here, that means one of two things," Zevran said, ticking the items off on his long fingers. "One: she is here to confront Leliana again. Or two: she is here to cause trouble in Amaranthine."

Leliana looked up at Nathaniel. "Nate, you should head back to Vigil's Keep right away and let Lhiannon and Loghain know Marjolaine is here. Lhiannon is well aware of what Marjolaine is capable of."

"What about the two of you?" Nathaniel asked.

Zevran and Leliana exchanged a look. Nathaniel watched as Zevran nodded and a wry grin crossed the elf's face. "My lovely one intends to follow Marjolaine and determine just why she is here."

"Exactly so," Leliana said, peering around the corner again to watch Marjolaine before quickly rummaging in her pack. "Zevran and I will need to quickly disguise ourselves so that Marjolaine does not recognize us as first glance." Leliana pulled a kohl stick and small mirror out of her bag and handed it to Zevran.

"All right," Nathaniel said, nodding to both of them. "I will go back to Vigil's Keep and let them know we have a bard in our midst. Follow her and determine what she is doing here, then get back to Vigil's Keep."

"Understood," Zevran nodded. "We shall return as soon as we can."

Nathaniel turned and hurried off, leaving Zevran and Leliana to quickly disguise themselves. Zevran drew more lines on his face, accenting the tattoos with more designs, the new lines crossing his forehead and cheeks.

Leliana pulled a mage's robe from her pack; it had been Lhiannon's at one time and since she never wore it any longer, gave it to Leliana for just such an occasion. Leliana quickly slipped it on over her armor, securing it into place. It was a snug fit, but there was no time to remove her armor; it would have to do. She then reached into her bag and pulled a dark wig out, quickly securing her hair in bands before pulling the wig onto her head and adjusting the locks.

"Hurry," Zevran hissed; he had looked out toward the docks again and saw that Marjolaine appeared to be finishing her conversation with the captain of the ship. Zevran pulled a leather cap out of his own pack, pulling it low onto his head and tucking his hair inside.

Leliana grabbed the kohl stick as Zevran held the mirror. Leliana quickly darkened her brows with the stick and lined her eyes, extending the lines past the outer corners. She pulled several locks of the wig's hair out and over her ears; at first glance, she would look like an ordinary mage. The disguise was hurried and not perfect perhaps, but Leliana didn't intend to let Marjolaine close enough for a thorough inspection.

Zevran looked around the corner one last time and saw Marjolaine moving toward the city. He turned to Leliana. "She's on the move. I shall follow her on the rooftops for as long as possible."

"And I shall follow on the ground," Leliana agreed, shouldering her bag. Zevran pulled her face to his for a quick kiss, his tongue teasing the corner of her mouth. "I expect to continue this lovely interlude later, _mia cara_. With the wig."

Leliana giggled, watching as Zevran quickly climbed to the roof of the building next to them and watched as Marjolaine entered the city.

* * *

It was clear as they traveled that Marjolaine suspected she was being followed. She took a circuitous route through Amaranthine, sticking mostly to the areas of the city that were populated. As Zevran quietly scampered along the rooftops, he saw Leliana move among small groups of people, trying to stay close to Marjolaine while blending in with the foot traffic.

On more than one occasion, Zevran had to duck behind chimneys or flatten himself onto the roof when Marjolaine began to look around. Zevran viciously swore to himself once when he had unknowingly stepped on a loose roof tile, sending it clattering to the street and causing Marjolaine to look about warily. Thankfully, that had been the only time her suspicions had been raised to the rooftops.

Zevran carefully moved from building to building, his steps light and nearly without sound, thanks to the soft, supple soles of his boots. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, the adrenaline and excitement of the hunt causing his blood to sing. It had been a long, long time since he had stalked prey such as Marjolaine. Not even when he had been contracted to kill Lhiannon had he felt so alive in his work. Setting up the ambush was almost cheating; Lhiannon had come to them thinking she was helping unfortunate travelers. Stalking prey along the rooftops of the city was thrilling.

Marjolaine was nearing the gates to Amaranthine, likely looking to hire a horse to take her where she wanted to go. Zevran watched as Marjolaine suddenly turned down an alleyway near the market district. His guard immediately went up; what reason would she have to suddenly turn into an alley? Was she meeting someone? She moved toward the dead end a waited for several moments, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked around, seemingly bored. Zevran was perched on a building to Marjolaine's left, crouched down low on the roof and hidden amongst the branches of a tree that grew next to the building.

"Come out, my sweet Leliana. Do you not think I know it is you that follows me?"

Zevran's blood froze in his veins. How did she discover that it was Leliana herself that followed her? As Zevran watched, Leliana quickly removed the robe, dropping it to the ground as she rounded the corner of the alley and faced Marjolaine. Zevran's sharp ears heard their conversation as if they were right next to him.

"What are you doing here, Marjolaine? I told you to leave me alone," Leliana growled.

Marjolaine's laughter drifted up to Zevran's ears. "Oh, Leliana, not everything is about _you_, my sweet. I could hardly believe it was you following me through this decrepit city. I thought Denerim was bad enough, smelling like wet dog. This place smells like burned and rotted bodies."

Zevran quietly moved his hand to the quiver on his back, feeling among the arrows for the special markings indicating those with special enchantments or substances coating them. He soon found the one he wanted; it would quickly stun its victim before lulling it into unconsciousness for many hours. He quietly eased it from the quiver and readied it in his hand. Excitement and adrenaline ran through his veins.

Leliana took a step closer to Marjolaine, who held up a hand and wagged a finger at her. "That is close enough, my sweet. I would not want to see you hurt."

"Why are you here, Marjolaine? There is nothing here for you in Amaranthine."

"Ah, but there is, my darling Leliana. There is information here. There are always those who pay for information from Ferelden, especially on this little arling. I see there has been some trouble here recently."

Taking another step closer, Leliana glared at Marjolaine. "You need to leave Amaranthine _now_, Marjolaine. Get back on that boat to wherever you came from or I shall make sure you return to wherever it is you go in a box."

Marjolaine shook her head, tsking at Leliana's overt threat. "My dear, all the time you have spent in this simple, backwards nation has dulled your wits. A pity; you were one of my finest tools." Zevran watched as Marjolaine's hand quickly moved to her belt to grasp a small throwing dagger.

Leliana saw Marjolaine's movement and produced a dagger from a sheath on her forearm. Marjolaine grasped her throwing dagger and with a blur of movement, launched it. Leliana dodged quickly, but not quickly enough. The small dagger bit into the skin of her leg, the white hot pain coursing through her veins as blood began to run down the leather covering her leg. Before Marjolaine could pull another dagger, Leliana charged at the bard, swinging her dagger in a wide arc. Marjolaine produced her own dagger and proceeded to block Leliana's movement.

As soon as he saw the flash of Marjolaine's dagger, Zevran began to move. The tree he had hidden himself in would block his arrow and if the ladies insisted on moving about as they fought, he would need a better vantage point from which to attack. He moved quietly along the roof, coming out from behind the tree and into the open. If Marjolaine turned her head even slightly, he would be discovered. Zevran raised his bow and readied the special arrow, his lithe arm pulling back on the string. He took a deep breath, stilling his movements as he singled out a spot on Marjolaine's shoulder. Forcing himself to relax, he opened his fingers, releasing the arrow and giving it flight.

Leliana heard the slight twang of Zevran's bow from to the side and above. She watched as an arrow buried itself in Marjolaine's shoulder and the bard gasped in pain. She dropped the throwing dagger on the ground and looked with disbelief at the arrow that had suddenly appeared in her shoulder. Leliana saw Marjolaine's mouth moving without sound as she turned to regard her former apprentice. After a moment, Marjolaine's eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped quietly to the ground. Leliana dropped to her knees next to Marjolaine, her dagger to the bard's throat as she made sure the bard was completely unconscious.

Zevran quickly appeared at Leliana's side. "_Mia cara,_ go get the horses from the stable," he purred, pulling the arrow from Marjolaine's shoulder and quickly applying a special poultice to the wound, securing it in place; while the poultice would help keep the wound from festering, it would also ensure that Marjolaine stayed unconscious until she was safely in the dungeon back at Vigil's Keep. He then pulled a length of rope from his pack as Leliana rolled Marjolaine onto her stomach and pulled her arms behind her. Zevran quickly bound Marjolaine's hands behind her, wrapping a length of rope around the woman's waist for good measure. He cut the rope, moving next to bind her ankles together.

"Are we going to attempt returning to the Vigil tonight?" Leliana asked, looking up to the sky. She estimated that they only had about three hours of daylight left. Even at full speed, they would not reach Vigil's Keep until well after sunset. "We would be traveling much of the way in the dark; I'm not sure that's advisable."

Zevran also looked toward the sky, looking at the sinking sun and doing his own calculations. His keen elven hearing and eyesight would be of benefit in the dark, but Leliana had a point. With the recent attack on Amaranthine and the occasional band of miscreants on the road between here and Vigil's Keep, perhaps moving Marjolaine back to the Vigil would be done best in the daytime.

"Perhaps you are right, _mia cara_," Zevran nodded, returning his gaze from the sky to Leliana. "We shall ask the good Constable for hospitality tonight, and a cell for our wayward bard. We shall head back to Vigil's Keep in the morning. I'm sure the Commander and Warden Loghain will have many questions for her."

Leliana leaned over and gave Zevran a quick kiss on the cheek before bounding off to gather one of the horses, leaving Zevran to regard their quarry.

It was fun to be on the hunt again.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood for the inspiration for this chapter. I think Zevran was channeling Ezio Auditore di Firenze...hot! _

_I anticipate the chapters will__slow a bit as I obsessively play DA2 when it arrives. ;) I will, __however, do my best to keep writing and updating as often as I can._

_Special thanks to __awesome review____e________rs Sha________________kespira, Dante Alighieri, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Aura of Darkness Night, and TG2000._

_As always, thanks to those of you who read, bookmark, and favorite the story. Your support means a great deal!  
_


	4. The Troubles With Bards and Mages

Jowan sat atop the battlements of Vigil's Keep, looking down over the countryside below him as the sun sat high overhead and bathed the land in its warm glow. This had quickly become his favorite place for quiet contemplation when Lhiannon first brought him here several months ago. He had been welcomed into the Grey Wardens with open arms and was able to rekindle the friendships of his youth with both Anders and Lhiannon. He had quickly made friends with Sigrun and Nathaniel even before he arrived at his new home. It was like family; something he had not known since he was a small boy. Not even the camaraderie with the mages at Kinloch Hold could compare.

Then with one careless action, he nearly ruined everything.

Anders and Nathaniel had difficulty understanding how Jowan's demeanor had dampened seemingly overnight. They had tried asking what was bothering him, but what was Jowan to say? Lhiannon had sworn everyone involved to silence regarding the blood magic at Isolde's trial; he had disappointed her enough already without adding a broken vow to her already overwhelming duties and concerns. So he played off his melancholy mood to anything he could think of: the battles at Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine, missing Lily, missing other friends at Kinloch Hold.

A small seed of hope bloomed in his chest when Lhiannon asked him to accompany her to Amaranthine when the structures affected by the Blight needed to be cleansed and burned. She had been friendly to him, trying to draw him out of his melancholy mood. But even as he used his magic to create fire, his mind yearned to use his blood to fuel spells. The call of blood magic was nearly as strong as the burn he felt when darkspawn were near. He could imagine it was similar to what the templars felt when they had gone without their Chantry regulated lyrium for just a bit too long. It had been a small victory when he survived the siege at Vigil's Keep without relying on blood magic, but the temptation to use it was still nearly overwhelming. It seemed that Lhiannon had sensed his turmoil, which is why she wanted to be there with him in Amaranthine and closely watch over him.

The guilt of what he had done was tearing him to pieces. He cursed himself an idiot and a fool on countless occasions since the trial ended. He _knew_ what blood magic had done to him and what it had cost him, but it still did not deter him. He was weak; weak in using the quick and easy path of blood magic rather than devote his time to improving his primal, entropy, or healing magic. Weak in letting the stronger voice and personality of Velanna bowl him over into submission. Saying no to her did cross his mind, but he relented, not wanting to further irk the elf and push her into more rash actions. Still, he was weak and a disappointment to not only the Grey Wardens, but to Lhiannon herself. She was his friend and Commander and he betrayed her trust not once, but twice now. It was a wonder that she had not tossed him to the darkspawn.

He thought a great deal about what he had done as he sat atop the battlements, watching the ebb and flow of daily life below him. Blood magic constantly called to him in the last several years. While other classes of magic were interesting to him, blood magic held a forbidden fascination. He would watch, mesmerized, as he cut his skin and chanted spells, watching the blood rise from the wound and move about like it were a living creature. He had tried to hide his dabblings in blood magic while at Kinloch Hold, but the curious glances given to the cuts on his hands and arms began to grow more and more frequent. While he often tried to pass them off as those gained by a clumsy young man, he had sensed the suspicion growing for some time before he and Lily decided to make their escape. He had wanted to tell Lily about the blood magic, but did not know how. He had hoped to tell her once they fled the tower, but alas…

When he had finally used blood magic openly in his failed attempt to protect Lily, he had opened a door that he knew now should have never been opened. Every time he gathered his power, the need to use blood raged through his body and mind, an addiction that he knew would only grow worse in time until he became the monster he knew maleficars could be. There was only one thing he could do to stop his weakness and stop the call of blood magic roaring in his veins.

Tranquility.

Jowan knew that even mentioning tranquility to Lhiannon would be very difficult to do. She knew all too well what tranquility did to mages; her own first love, a man named Zane, was dragged off by the templars one night years ago and made tranquil. The First Enchanter and Knight Commander thought he would never make it through his Harrowing and thus decided to put him through the rite. Condemned, Lhiannon called it later. Condemned to existing, but not _living. _She had fought the templars as they dragged Zane away, actually casting a lightning spell at them as they dragged Zane toward the door.

It was Knight Commander Greagoir himself that smited her. Jowan had not been there to see it, but heard about it the next day when Anders quickly pulled him aside on his way to class to tell him; he had been in a nearby closet with a young lady when he heard the commotion and peeked through a crack in the door, shocked and saddened by what he had witnessed. Anders shakily told Jowan that Zane had been taken away for the Rite of Tranquility and that Lhiannon had been smited and thrown into a prison cell for the night. When she emerged later on that next day, she had been a ghost of herself, an empty shell. It had been a number of days before she was able to tell them what had happened. By then, Jowan and Anders had witnessed the outcome; they had seen what became of Zane with their own eyes.

Asking Lhiannon to have the rite performed on him would be the hardest thing he would ever ask her to do, but in the end, it was for the best. He did not trust himself and there was no way he could advance his Calling so that he could find death in the Deep Roads. That knowledge, if it still existed, lay in Kinloch Hold and Jowan did not think the First Enchanter would let him set foot into the tower, let alone peruse the library looking for the secret. No, tranquility was the best option. Jowan sat on the battlements a while longer, watching as a single rider approached the gates of Vigil's Keep at a fast pace. As the rider drew closer, Jowan could sense the taint within him; it was Nathaniel, most likely returning from Amaranthine. But where were Leliana and Zevran? Jowan shrugged, knowing that he would find out eventually; it was probably nothing more than Leliana and Zevran wanting some alone time together. If that was the case, Jowan thought ignorance was bliss. As much as he wanted to know what was happening with Nathaniel's solitary and hurried return, he needed to speak to Lhiannon first. Sliding down off the battlements and gathering his cloak around him, Jowan began to make his way to Lhiannon's office and what he hoped was his new fate.

* * *

Loghain had a map of Ferelden spread out on the top of his desk. Lhiannon was standing at his side, pointing to an area of southern Ferelden within the Korcari Wilds. "We will need to travel here soon to seal Urthemiel's breach. The Thaw will end quicker if we can find exactly where the archdemon surfaced. This is where the heart of the darkspawn invasion lies; any that are above ground in that part of Ferelden will likely head there to go beneath the surface if they can't find an easier way down."

"Agreed," Loghain said, running a finger down the line indicating the West Road and continuing along the Imperial Highway to Ostagar. The thought of traveling to that area once again did not hold the unease that it once had. He had made his peace with what had happened there; it held no power over him now. "That is an expedition, I believe, for just the Grey Wardens; I would not wish to expose anyone not already tainted to what will likely be an area crawling with it."

Lhiannon nodded, pointing to the area around Lothering. "Indeed. We will also have to see if the taint that was festering in Lothering or the other nearby settlements has spread or begun to fade with the absence of the darkspawn." She paused, her face darkening. "We'll have to burn anything still showing signs of active taint," she said quietly.

Loghain reached out and squeezed her hand, hoping to confer confidence and support for her. The decision to burn any settlement would likely remain difficult for her. After a moment, she leaned down to drop a small kiss on his temple before moving across the desk to sit.

"I need to make a trip to Kinloch Hold," Lhiannon told Loghain with a sigh. She settled into the one simple chair across from the desk in his office, crossing one leg over the other. "I can't ask any of the other mages to go in my stead."

Loghain scoffed, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. "No, I hardly think you would endear yourself to the Circle if you sent one of the others."

"Indeed," Lhiannon agreed, a wry grin crossing her face. "I'm the lesser of all the evils. In their eyes, Anders is an apostate, Jowan a maleficar, and Velanna a heathen. Irving may eventually work with one of the other mages, but Greagoir would have kittens if any of the others turned up on his doorstep. Templars are a touchy lot."

"We need more than mages for the Grey Wardens," Loghain added, tapping his finger on his desktop and where Kinloch Hold lay on his map. "Perhaps when we next go to Denerim, we can speak with the King and with the elves in the Alienage. The next Landsmeet is not far off, so perhaps then would be a good time." He paused for a moment, his own wry grin softening his features. "I should not be the one to go to the Alienage, given recent history. Elder Shianni would most likely want my head."

As Lhiannon snorted a humorous agreement, Loghain's finger trailed down the map from Denerim to Gwaren. He tapped the icon on the map, his face turning thoughtful. "I need to go to Gwaren as well; before the wedding. I need to discuss matters there with Cauthrien and Thorne."

Nodding her understanding, Lhiannon brought one of her knees up to her chest, resting her foot on the seat of the chair and wrapping her arms around her leg. "Will you go there over land or take a ship from Denerim? I imagine the roads will be quite rough with the weather beginning to turn soon." She paused briefly, a small shadow crossing her features. "You'll have to leave soon, I suppose."

Loghain nodded slowly, though he grimaced at the thought of sailing into Gwaren; Fereldens _did not _sail if they could help it and Loghain was no exception. Ever since Maric boarded the ship that led to his death, Loghain swore he would not set foot on one again. He had been true to his word thus far and had no intentions of stepping on a boat any time soon. "I will have to leave within the next few weeks; however, I won't sail unless I have absolutely no other option. I'd rather have a team of mabari pull me on a sled before boarding a ship again. Maker's breath, I'd rather walk."

As Lhiannon was about to agree, heavy, urgent footsteps could be heard in the hallway. Lhiannon and Loghain gave each other a wary glance, both feeling the taint of a Grey Warden approaching, the feeling tinged with urgency. They looked to the door and saw a tall, lithe figure in leather armor looking into Lhiannon's office.

"Nate?" Lhiannon called out questioningly, motioning for him to come into Loghain's office when he spun about at the sound of his name. "You're all back already? That was fast; I didn't think you would be back for hours yet, or even until tomorrow."

Nathaniel entered Loghain's office; they could both see that he was tired, having ridden hard back to Vigil's Keep. His long hair had come unbound and was tangled in knots, and there were signs of windburn on his face. Lhiannon quickly stood from the chair, motioning for Nathaniel to sit and breathing a rejuvenation spell on him once he settled into the chair. He nodded his thanks as she suddenly felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise. "Where are Leliana and Zevran?"

"They are still in Amaranthine, tracking an Orlesian bard named Marjolaine," Nathaniel explained, taking the glass of water that Lhiannon had produced from a shelf near Loghain's desk. Nathaniel greedily gulped it down as Lhiannon and Loghain traded glances; his look a one of questioning while hers was hard and angry.

"Who is Marjolaine?" Loghain asked, a growl in his voice. "Do I even want to know _why_ an Orlesian bard is in our midst?"

Lhiannon shook her head, gritting her teeth and growling. "Maker damn it. She's definitely not here to reminisce with Leliana." Crossing her arms over her chest and standing stiffly, she turned to Loghain and noted his raised brow. "Marjolaine was Leliana's mentor and employer in Orlais. Marjolaine was trading Orlesian secrets, committing treason against the Empire and framing Leliana for it."

"So she brings their so called grand game back to Ferelden?" Loghain growled. "As if we didn't have enough worries with the Thaw, the paranoid Chantry sisters, and Isolde on the run to Maker knows where, now we have a damned bard in our midst." Loghain slammed his fist on his desk, not on the map, of course. "Andraste's flaming arse."

Lhiannon perched herself on the edge of Loghain's desk, sitting so she could easily turn to look at both men and supporting some of her weight on one of her hands. She turned expectantly to Nathaniel. "Had you spoken with Marjolaine while you were in Amaranthine? How did you find her?"

Nathaniel looked between Lhiannon and Loghain, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. "We had left the Chantry to get an update on the harbor; which reminds me—ask me about the Chantry next, Commander." Lhiannon nodded, noting Loghain waving his hand in a "hurry up" gesture to Nathaniel, silently commanding him to continue. He nodded, turning his gaze back to Lhiannon. "We were standing at the top of the hill looking down on the harbor. A small slip had been docking at one of the available docks near the south end of the harbor. We saw several people disembark and thought it was just another ship ferrying passengers and supplies in. We saw a dark haired woman disembark and begin talking to the captain of the ship. Leliana happened to be watching and saw that the woman was this Marjolaine."

"What then?" Lhiannon asked, her dread and impatience growing with each passing moment. She was sure Nathaniel's tale of the Chantry would likely add to those feelings.

"Leliana and Zevran quickly disguised themselves so that they could follow her. I left before Marjolaine exited the harbor." Nathaniel paused to take a drink of water from the second glass Lhiannon handed to him. "I ordered them to find out why she was in Amaranthine then return here with all haste."

Loghain began drumming his fingers on his desk, the small sound of his fingers tapping the top of his desk the only sound in the room. Lhiannon saw that his brow was furrowed in thought. "We will have to trust that Leliana and Zevran will find out the bard's true purpose before she can put whatever plans she has into motion. When they return, we shall discover what they found out and interrogate this bard ourselves for good measure." Loghain moved his hand across the map to finger the small symbol indicating the city of Amaranthine. Will it ever be the same again? "And what of the Chantry?" he began after a moment, his finger tapping the symbol of Amaranthine. "What did you find during your visit there? More paranoia?"

With a sigh, Nathaniel dropped his head for a moment to gather his thoughts. Lhiannon looked at him with dread. She felt Loghain's hand rest on top of hers, his touch light yet comforting. Nathaniel raised his head and looked at Lhiannon. "Leliana met a Sister there that she knew from Lothering. She told Leliana that the Revered Mother left to meet the Grand Cleric in Denerim over a week ago; from there they were headed to Orlais to meet with the Divine."

"_What?_" Lhiannon gasped, her brows furrowing and a look on her face that was one of disbelief. She heard a growl from her side and turned to see Loghain shaking his head, a dark scowl on his face. "Always Orlais," he snarled, pounding his fist on the desk once more. "If they were in as great a hurry as you suggest, Nathaniel, they are likely near the border by now. If they left by ship, they could already be in Val Royeaux."

"The Sister in Amaranthine said the Revered Mother has been 'obsessed with recent events'," Nathaniel explained, his gaze moving between Loghain and Lhiannon. Lhiannon was looking more and more concerned by the second, her face blanching as Nathaniel watched. Loghain scowled even more deeply than was usual, even for him.

"I have a bad feeling that the Revered Mother is of the belief my parents were," Lhiannon began, her hand coming up to her ear to finger the golden rings in her lobe. "She must literally believe that magic must serve and never rule."

"And your title of 'Arlessa' is too close for her comfort," Loghain growled. "I'm sure she is also unhappy with the King and Queen; Anora gave you this position and Alistair endorsed it, accepting your oath as Arlessa in court. Since he was all but an avowed templar, the Chantry is likely very unhappy with him as well."

"They likely feel that Alistair, with his templar training, should have either fought against Anora naming me Arlessa or stripped me of the title," Lhiannon surmised, her fingers moving from the lobe of her ear to glide along her betrothal band. She turned to Loghain. "Would they feel the same if we were married? You would hold the other half of the title and many of them see the man as the dominant party in marriage. Would that assuage their fears?"

Loghain shrugged then shook his head slightly. "I'm no expert in Chantry affairs. It's possible it may calm their nerves, but you are still a mage holding a title and if the Revered Mother is as fanatical as you believe, even that may not assuage her."

"Your title as Warden Commander is more secular," Nathaniel surmised, rubbing his chin in thought. "That title likely doesn't bother them, especially since as a Grey Warden you command those that fight the darkspawn; the creatures the Maker turned the Tevinter magisters into. So says the Chantry, anyway."

"Well, there is little we can do until Leliana and Zevran return with what information they have found on Marjolaine," Lhiannon sighed. She moved herself off the desk, wrapping her hands around her torso and slowly pacing Loghain's office. "When they return, we can gather the Wardens and let them know what we may be facing. I would rather they all know."

Lhiannon caught movement from the hallway out of the corner of her eye and sensed another tainted presence. She looked up toward her open office door across the hall and saw Jowan quietly drift in. Loghain had also seen the mage enter Lhiannon's office and raised his brow in silent questioning. Lhiannon gave him a slight shrug before turning back to Nathaniel. "Go on and rest up, Nate. We'll call you if we need anything else from you."

As Nathaniel left Loghain's office, Lhiannon gave Loghain's hand a final squeeze before she slid off his desk and moved across the hall and into her own office. "Hey Jowan," she greeting him amiably, crossing the office to her chair behind the desk. Loghain was still across the hall, watching warily as Jowan settled himself down into one of the chairs across from Lhiannon with a heavy sigh.

"Can I talk to you privately, Lhi?" He asked quietly, motioning toward the door. "It's, um, personal."

Lhiannon rose from her chair. As she moved around her desk and where Jowan sat, she saw Loghain give her a curious look, a brow raised in questioning. Lhiannon shrugged and shook her head slightly before shutting the door to her office. She did not run the bolt.

"All right, Jowan," she began, moving toward the chair next to the mage and sitting in it. "What is it you would like to discuss with me?"

Jowan sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "I've been thinking a lot about what happened at the Arlessa's trial. About what I did."

Lhiannon nodded; since the trial, she had noticed that Jowan had become melancholy and distant. She and the other Wardens tried to bring him out of his doldrums, but had little success. That he was finally willing to discuss what happened brought a flicker of hope to Lhiannon. "And?" she gently prompted.

The mage lowered his head to his hands, covering his face for a moment before running his hands down the skin. There was no easy way to say this, so best to just come out with it. "I need to be made Tranquil."

Lhiannon stood from her chair with such speed and force that it toppled over with a loud clatter behind her. "You _what?_" she breathed, shocked almost to speechlessness by Jowan's request. "Why would you ever _want_ that?" she whispered, her face losing its color. She moved to steady herself against her desk, not trusting her suddenly weak legs to hold her upright.

"I don't trust myself anymore, Lhi. I feel the call of blood magic in my veins every time I gather my power," Jowan explained, his hands held out in a plea. "For Maker's sake, Lhi, I haven't even gone through a proper Harrowing. The call of blood magic is almost as bad as the pull the darkspawn inflict on it. At least when the darkspawn die or go away, their pull fades. The call of blood magic _never_ completely fades."

"You would _condemn_ yourself to a life of not feeling _anything_?" Lhiannon gasped. "_Why_, Jowan?"

"It's better than being weak!" Jowan cried out, his voice sounding plaintive and desperate to her ears. "It's better than knowing I betrayed the trust of one of my best friends!"

Lhiannon finally felt she could trust her legs to hold her upright. She stood on shaky legs, wrapping her arms around herself and taking a few small steps away from Jowan and where he sat. Her mind went back to the time Zane was made tranquil. The screams she heard from the Tranquility Room in the tower…she had heard every one from the cell the templars threw her into after they smited her for defending Zane. She howled in pain and anguish with every one of Zane's until they finally slowed and then stopped entirely.

"Jowan, you can overcome those urges. I don't feel the urge to use blood magic, even after having used it once before."

Jowan shook his head rapidly as if trying to block out her words and reason. "No, Lhi. You're strong; you always have been. I'm not. I'm weak and a coward. I took the easy way out. I betrayed you with blood magic…not once but _twice_. I betrayed and lost Lily. I inadvertently allowed a young boy to bring a demon into his body to torment an entire _city_." Jowan dropped his face into his hands, shaking his head in his misery. "Tranquility is the only answer; the only guarantee that I won't harm myself or others with blood magic."

Lhiannon watched as Jowan settled his head in his arms once again, staring down at the floor. After a moment she suddenly became angry; angry that Jowan was trying to say that learning blood magic rather than other types was the easy way out, but what was he doing now? Running from his fear by wanting tranquility? "Jowan, you _are_ a coward."

"What?" Jowan gasped, raising his head to look at Lhiannon. He saw righteous anger in her eyes, her cheeks beginning to color with her fury. She pointed an accusatory finger at him, growling as she spoke. "Yes, a coward. You speak of blood magic as the easy way, but then instead of rising above your temptation—your weakness—you seek to destroy your very being to avoid it. Not confronting and overcoming your temptation is weakness." Lhiannon rushed forward and grasped Jowan's shoulders, shaking him once in her anger. "I _will not_ allow you to undergo the Rite of Tranquility. I would do you a grave disservice to even_ consider _it."

"But, Lhi…"

With a slash of her hand, she silenced Jowan's protest. "_No,_ Jowan. You want to overcome your weakness? I shall help you. Anders will certainly help too. We can hone your skills and help you develop new ones that will keep you from even considering blood magic."

Jowan lowered his head, closing his eyes in his misery. "I'm scared," he whispered after a moment. "I don't know if I can resist the call."

Kneeling in front of Jowan, Lhiannon took both of his hands in hers, her gaze softening as the looked at him. "I have faith in you, Jowan."

Jowan raised his eyes to meet Lhiannon's, and found her dark eyes full of unshed tears. She squeezed his hands gently, offering her strength to him to help quash his fear. He leaned forward and gently set his forehead against hers, a single heavy sigh escaping his lips. "All right, Lhi. I'll try."

Releasing Jowan's hands, Lhiannon brought them to the sides of his face and raised her lips to his forehead, planting a small kiss there. "Bravery can be a powerful emotion, Jowan. I _know_ you can do this. I will be there every step of the way. If you feel the call of blood magic, come to either Anders or me. We'll help you through it, just like when we were young and helped each other with our lessons."

Jowan rose to his feet as Lhiannon gathered him into a hug, holding her friend close and lending him her strength. "We have been friends a long time, you and I," she began, feeling the tears welling in her eyes and a burning lump form in her throat. "I can't lose another person close to me to Tranquility. My heart broke when Zane was taken; I would not lose you too."

"Thanks, Lhi," Jowan whispered, pulling away and smiling down at her. Lhiannon returned his smile. "So, we shall begin magic lessons tomorrow, Jowan. We'll improve your other classes of magic and help you learn to overcome the pull of blood magic."

* * *

Velanna woke with a start, hearing a strange call in her mind. This was the fourth night in a row she heard this call, incessant and urgent yet strangely familiar. It did not feel like the Calling; she was not exhibiting any other signs of the phenomenon. There were no patches of corruption on her skin, no incessant pull of the darkspawn song in her ears. What she felt was more like an impatient plea, a mantra of _hurry, come _thrumming through her mind and her blood. She had ignored it long enough; it was time to find out exactly what this strange call was and what it wanted.

Velanna was still smoldering angry at the Commander and her cold, taciturn Second for actually fighting the Architect rather than cooperating with the creature. They could have ended the Blights and saved Seranni—and the others, she quickly amended—in one fell swoop. Do whatever is necessary to end the Blight...is that not what Grey Wardens did? End the Blights? Velanna simply could not understand why the Commander refused to work with the Architect; she had said something about a dream and how the Architect took part of her, but it was to further his research to undermine the darkspawn from within. He had even promised her—and her Second—a child. Velanna could not understand what those two shemlens saw in each other, but still...they would have received a just and fair reward for their help. Velanna also thought that Loghain was blowing matters out of proportion when he said many surface dwellers and dwarves would die if the Architect's plans came to fruition. It was another over reaction from a shemlen who was known for such grandiose and paranoid assumptions.

Not only was that a bone of contention for Velanna, but the Commander had forbidden the use of blood magic except 'when absolutely necessary'. Velanna scoffed to herself; _she_ could control blood magic, unlike the Commander or the other weak mages at Vigil's Keep. Blood magic was the second half of the whole and to deny its existence was to deny its power. It had won the Commander the guilty verdict needed against the lying, duplicitous Arlessa Isolde; the ends, Velanna felt, justified the means.

Rising from her bed, Velanna quickly dressed in her Dalish robes and grabbed her staff, moving silently through the halls of the Vigil and outside. She listened to the call in her mind, straining to hear as it almost became intelligible, a word. She took a couple of steps in one direction and felt the call fade somewhat. Turning back, she walked in the opposite direction, toward the gates of the fortress. The call intensified as she silently moved toward the gate, the murmur in her mind coalescing into a word as she drew closer. "_Sister..." _The word caressed her mind, pulling her forward as a moth to a flame. Hope bloomed in her heart, an emotion as bright and powerful as the sun in high summer; could it be? Was it possible?

* * *

Sigrun found that the more time she spent above ground, the more the sky fascinated her. During the day, she would often look up, mesmerized by the clouds passing by overhead. They could be bright and fluffy one moment, dark and ominous the next, then later a flat, even gray stretching across the entire sky like a blanket. And then the things that fell from it! Rain and snow! The first time she experienced each, she simply stood in the elements, her face tipped toward the sky to let the rain and snow hit her skin and slide off. It was glorious. It was too bad that more dwarves could not experience this without the stigma of being labeled a surfacer. The stone was rigid and unmoving, monotonous. The sky was ever changing and utterly fascinating.

The night sky fascinated her even more. An inky black canvass with bright pinprick stars of white; some even looked an icy blue or warm orange through her spyglass. Lhiannon had found it in the Wending Wood and when she learned of Sigrun's fascination with the nighttime sky, had given it to her. Sigrun had nearly jumped up and down in her glee, hugging Lhiannon fiercely and laughing joyously along with her Commander. Lhiannon was all right...for a cloudhead.

Sigrun had tried counting the stars on the first few nights she used her spyglass, but then realized that the stars were moving, disrupting her count. She then understood the meaning of 'more than the stars in the sky'. There were so many and she learned that people often saw shapes in them, spinning fantastic tales of how the shapes in the sky came to be. Lhiannon showed her some of the shapes the humans saw and Velanna spun tales the Dalish told about the stars and how their gods interacted with them.

When the moon was visible, Sigrun often found herself outside, staring at its majestic yet ethereal appearance, studying its mottled surface and wondering why it appeared as such. Anders had told her that sometimes the moon would cross in front of the sun, turning day into twilight and causing the shadows to arc strangely and animals to burrow down for the night. She could not wait to see one. He consulted the star charts and said it would be some time before such a phenomenon occurred again over Ferelden. She would content herself with the other objects in the sky while she waited. An eclipse, he called it, and she found herself incredibly anxious to see one.

It was as she lay on a stone bench just outside the Vigil studying the night sky that she sensed another Grey Warden presence close by, an undercurrent of haste thrumming through the taint between them. Sitting up, Sigrun looked about and saw Velanna slinking off toward the city gates, keeping to the shadows in an effort to not be spotted by the guard of the watch. Sigrun was curious as to what Velanna could be doing; she knew the elf had been even more prickly than usual since they returned from the Dragonbone Wastes. Velanna had wanted to ally with the Architect; she tried to claim that it would help end the Blights by having a collaborator within the darkspawn, fighting the enemy from within. In reality, she had wanted to side with the Architect in an effort to have her sister, Seranni, freed from the creature's clutches. Velanna had never forgiven Lhiannon and Loghain for not siding with the Architect, calling their views short sighted. Sigrun had agreed with her commanding officers; sentient darkspawn totally reeked of stupid. Velanna was up to something; Sigrun would bet her spyglass and favorite nug roast on it.

Sigrun rose from the bench, sliding her spyglass into its case and keeping to the shadows as she followed Velanna toward the gates. The guard of the watch was patrolling at the far end of the wall and did not see as Velanna cracked open a small man door set within the larger door itself. Sigrun crept closer, her sharp eyes trained on the figure that quickly glided through the opening and stopped in front of Velanna.

It was Seranni.

Sigrun was able to see even from a distance that Seranni was more corrupted than ever before, her skin covered with more dark splotches of the taint and her hands had long talons at the ends of her fingers. She wore a hood, but Sigrun would bet Seranni was nearly bald, the corruption causing large patches of hair to fall out. As Sigrun stared, dumbfounded, Velanna suddenly whirled about and stared into the shadows where Sigrun hid. Sigrun watched as Velanna's eyes narrowed, studying the darkness. Sigrun froze, hardly breathing as the elf's sharp eyes glared at her.

"Sigrun, go back!" the elf snarled quietly. "Go back to Vigil's Keep!"

_Epic fail_. Sigrun sighed and crept closer, keeping to the shadows as she approached. "Velanna, what in the ancestors' names are you doing? Why is Seranni here?"

Velanna looked at Seranni for a brief moment, imploring her to wait, while she turned back to Sigrun. "Sigrun, look, I must go. You must leave before I have to do something rash."

"Sister, we must hurry," Seranni whispered, glaring at Sigrun. "We are running out of time."

"Velanna, don't do this," Sigrun pleaded, edging ever closer to the elves. Maybe she could talk _sense_ into Velanna. "This reeks of stupid. You need to stay with the Grey Wardens. The Commander would not want to see you sneak off like this, especially with Seranni. You know she is the Architect's creature now. He's crazy, you know. He's only using Seranni for his own purposes."

A sneer crossed Velanna's face; it was filled with such hatred and vitriol that Sigrun gasped. "The _Commander_ is short sighted, Sigrun. She would rather see the Blights continue rather than end them from within, working _with_ the Architect to stop them."

"Oh ancestor's tits, Velanna," Sigrun snapped, snarling at the elves, "you don't get it! The Architect's plan will kill _millions_, don't you see? The Commander is trying to _protect_ everyone; the Architect's plan will _kill_ everyone eventually!" Sigrun edged closer still, almost within reaching distance of the elves now. If she had to, she would drag Velanna back to the Vigil by the hair and make her see reason. "The Architect won't free your sister, you must know this."

Sneers crossed both elves faces; Seranni's face held a thinly disguised hatred for Sigrun. Velanna's gaze flitted between Sigrun and Seranni before she suddenly raised her staff, the tip glowing ominously. Before Sigrun could react, Velanna swung the staff at her, throwing a spell at the dwarf that knocked her off her feet and into the deep shadows of a nearby building. Sigrun's eyes went wide in disbelief before finally closing. Velanna sensed that Sigrun was unhurt; she would, however, be unconscious for some time and that was what Velanna and Seranni needed.

"I'm sorry, Sigrun," Velanna whispered. "Ancestors guide you." Squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, Velanna turned toward Seranni; a smile crossed the tainted elf's face and Velanna finally had a sense of true family and true purpose again. Seranni's physical features may be horrific, but inside that corrupted exterior was her sister, pure and unchanged.

"Come, sister," Seranni purred, motioning toward the door. "It is time to go."

Velanna followed Seranni out the door, leaving Vigil's Keep behind.

* * *

_Ancestor's tits, I never realized my mattress was so hard_.

Sigrun awoke, wondering why she was so cold and why her back was screaming in agony. She groaned and rolled onto her side, feeling dampness along her back and legs.

"What the…?"

Sigrun sat up, finally opening her sticky eyes to see that she was sitting on the dewy ground in the shadow of a building near the gate to Vigil's Keep. She rubbed her eyes, hoping to rub the sleep out of them and clear the cobwebs that clung to her mind. After a brief moment, she remembered what happened; Velanna had knocked her out and fled with Seranni.

The moon had traveled a quarter of the sky since the last time Sigrun looked at it. From what she could figure, she had been unconscious for several hours. Velanna and Seranni would be long gone by now. Jumping to her feet, she sprinted back toward the Vigil, taking the steps two at a time in her haste. She entered the halls, quickly brushing by the guards on duty—who gave her a strange look as she passed—and sprinted through the halls. By the time she reached the top of the stairs near Lhiannon and Loghain's offices, the sweat was pouring down her face and neck and her chest felt like her heart would pound its way through it. Sigrun felt anxious about waking the Commander—and especially Loghain—in the middle of the night, but this was a development that could not wait until morning. Thankfully, their quarters were the only ones occupied on this level of Vigil's Keep. With both hands, Sigrun began to pound on the door. "Lhiannon! Loghain! Wake up!"

After a few moments, she heard movement and a growling voice from beyond the door. _Oh man, Loghain is going to be so grumpy with me…_

It was indeed Loghain that opened the door, his unbraided hair slightly disheveled. Sigrun saw that he was wearing only a pair of sleeping pants, a network of scars she never knew he had crossing his bare chest. As Loghain glared down at her, Sigrun saw Lhiannon come from the doorway to their private chambers, tying the belt of a robe around her waist. Her hair was also disheveled and she was yawning mightily.

"I certainly hope you have good reason to be pounding on our door at such an hour," Loghain growled, glaring at Sigrun as Lhiannon came to his side. She also carried a scowl on her face but after looking at Sigrun, the scowl quickly turned to a look of concern.

"Sigrun, what is it?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"It's Velanna, Lhi," Sigrun panted, her eyes moving from Loghain to Lhiannon. "She's gone."

* * *

_Yes, there's a lot going on in this chapter, but I needed to get the rest of the story's foundation laid before we start narrowing the focus a bit. It's a long chapter, but I really couldn't break it up. Besides, it may be a week or so before the next one posts; DA2 arrives at my door tomorrow, so I'll be obsessively playing that. Don't worry through, I do have four or five more chapters all but complete and a sixth in progress. I'll still be writing, but it will slow down, I won't lie._

_However, my Loghain figurine from Bioware is coming soon, so that will help inspire me to keep writing when I need a break from DA2. ;) I am a shameless Loghain girl!  
_

_Special thanks and much love to my awesome reviewers: Shakespira, Aura of Darkness Night, Dante Alighieri, Arsinoe, icey, and Gene. You all are the best and I appreciate you so very much!_

_Thanks also to all you readers and those who bookmark and favorite the story. I'm grateful to have you along for the ride.  
_


	5. An Unwelcome Guest

"_She's what?"_ Loghain growled loudly, glaring at Sigrun as she moved through the doorway and toward one of the chairs in Lhiannon's office. Lhiannon was breathing a fire spell toward the hearth, lending more light and heat to the room. Dawn was a few hours away yet and the room had been bathed in darkness when Sigrun arrived in her haste. Neither Lhiannon or Loghain had bothered to dress, but met with Sigrun still in their sleeping clothes. Sigrun was also disheveled from Velanna's spell, bits of dead grass in her hair and her clothes damp from lying on the ground for some time.

Sigrun held her hands up in front of her, hoping Loghain would not take out his anger on her; she knew he could be very prickly at times and she did not want to be the target of his ire if she could at all help it. "Hey, don't skewer the messenger. I tried to stop her, but she blasted me with a spell that knocked me out for several hours."

After pouring cups of tea from the small kettle over the fire, Lhiannon passed the tea around before she came to sit on the edge of the desk next to Loghain, putting a hand on his forearm to bid him to stay his anger. "What happened, Sigrun?" Lhiannon asked, her other hand coming to her face to stifle a yawn. "Tell us everything."

Sigrun recounted her story, telling Lhiannon and Loghain of how she had been stargazing when she felt Velanna sneaking about outside the Vigil and how she let Seranni in. At the mention of Seranni's name, Loghain's scowl deepened. "Seranni has finally caught Velanna in her web, no doubt to try and follow the will of the Architect. Seranni is his instrument now and will stop at nothing to further his goals. Velanna's insistence that we ally ourselves with the creature has been her undoing; the Architect will use her desperation to further his plans."

"Now he has a new Grey Warden, one who hasn't been Joined that long," Lhiannon said, shaking her head and rubbing her forehead with her hands. A dark feeling of foreboding tickled at the back of Lhiannon's mind; nothing good could come from Velanna allying with the Architect. "The Grey Warden Utha had been Joined for some time before she allied herself with the Architect. Maker only knows what that monster will do with a newly joined Warden."

Sigrun scowled at the mention of Utha's name, a feature that Lhiannon knew did not cross the dwarf's face very often. "That _creature_ has brought disgrace to the Silent Sisters and to the dwarves in general. Here, we sacrificed _everything_ to battle the darkspawn within the Deep Roads and she just goes right along with them."

"At the time, she believed that she was doing what was necessary to end the Blights; that is what Maric told me after we returned to Denerim from Kinloch Hold," Loghain growled, pausing for a moment before he continued, his voice quieter, but no less angry. "Maric watched what the Architect did to Utha; how he advanced the corruption when she agreed to 'help' him. She too is a pawn for the Architect."

"Do you think he'll try to free one of the remaining Old Gods? Razikale or Lusacan?" Sigrun asked, a shiver running through her.

"With the blood of a newer Grey Warden, it's certainly possible," Lhiannon thought, echoing Sigrun's shiver with one of her own. If another nation in Thedas suffered a Blight so soon after this one…Maker help them if either one was imprisoned under Ferelden and the Architect or the darkspawn found them. "The taint will not have progressed very far in Velanna, so there could be more of the 'resistance' the Architect wants, since he's likely used up all of our blood and…other things…in his experiments. She's a mage _and_ an elf as well as a Grey Warden, so no doubt she is an interesting subject."

Loghain crossed his arms against his chest, the scowl still on his face as he considered their words. The thought of another Blight raging through Ferelden—or any other nation in Thedas—made his blood run cold. _Not even Orlais deserves such a catastrophe, and they deserve a great many things, _Loghain thought to himself. The Architect would not stop until he found one of the two remaining Old Gods and attempted his joining procedure again. With the blood of a newly joined Warden, Maker knew what could happen. "Then, perhaps, we need to find the Architect as soon as possible and destroy him before he can begin experimenting with freeing the darkspawn or the Old Gods again."

Sigrun shifted in her chair, scratching her head as her brows knit together in confusion. "But where would we even begin to search for him?" she began, shrugging her shoulders as her eyes shifted between Lhiannon and Loghain. "News flash; the Deep Roads are _huge_. The dwarves have many maps of the Deep Roads under Ferelden, but not all of them are complete; a lot of information was lost when the thaigs fell. The Legion tried to keep track of the Deep Roads and sent some of the support personnel back with new information, but not everyone made it back to Orzammar."

Lhiannon turned to look at Loghain, raising her brows as she thought about it. "We know of one laboratory in the vicinity of the abandoned mine in the Wending Wood." The thought of going back down into that laboratory again…where the Architect performed his monstrous experiments on them…made Lhiannon's blood run cold.

"But he also must have had one in southern Ferelden, near where Urthemiel was located," Loghain surmised, rubbing his chin with his hand in thought. He moved to a map of Ferelden he had recently acquired and had mounted reverently on the wall of Lhiannon's office. He pointed to an area of southern Ferelden near where the Korcari Wilds lay; he and Lhiannon had just recently speculated that the Old God rose from the depths of the earth there. "It would make sense for him to have a large laboratory close by when he located the Old God. I hardly think he would want to run back and forth through miles of the Deep Roads between his laboratory and the prison where the Old God slept."

Lhiannon nodded, fingering the earrings in her ears absentmindedly. "Then when we go to seal Urthemiel's breach, we can see if he and his laboratory can be located. If we find it, we'll destroy it."

"What about Velanna and Seranni?" Sigrun whispered, her face blanching at the thought of finding either one. Seranni was lost, this Sigrun knew; what would Velanna be like after the Architect got his hands on her? Would she become as insane as Seranni? Would the Architect turn either one or both into those horrible broodmothers? Sigrun shivered involuntarily at the thought.

"We destroy them," Loghain growled, his voice taking on a hard edge. "They cannot be allowed to further the madness of the Architect's plans."

Lhiannon sighed heavily, hanging her head low. Loghain was right; Seranni, she knew, was beyond saving. If Velanna allowed herself to follow in her sister's footsteps, she would be just as lost, and sooner rather than later. "I agree," she said quietly, raising her head to look between Sigrun and Loghain. "Maker damn it."

* * *

Leliana and Zevran set a brisk pace back to Vigil's Keep shortly after dawn, wanting to have Marjolaine in the dungeon there as soon as possible. Constable Aidan had indeed allowed Zevran and Leliana to hold Marjolaine at their barracks in Amaranthine overnight. They had taken turns watching over her, making sure the special poultices that would keep Marjolaine unconscious were changed and the sleeping agent reapplied every few hours. They thought it best if Marjolaine woke up in chains with a very angry Warden Loghain glaring down at her.

Marjolaine had been slung across the back of Leliana's horse, securely tied to the saddle so she would not slide off on the bumpy, fast ride back to Vigil's Keep. Not that Leliana was too concerned for Marjolaine's comfort. That the bard had returned to Ferelden—and Amaranthine in particular—made Leliana's blood run cold. Marjolaine was no ordinary bard; she was known among the Orlesian aristocracy as one of the very best at 'the grand game'. Marjolaine was hired when the next step in the game was to eliminate the adversary. Her services were also prohibitively expensive, so whoever hired her had to have a significant source of wealth to draw upon. Who hired her? Who was she here to eliminate? Leliana herself? Lhiannon? Someone else? Marjolaine's presence raised far more questions than answers and the very thought of whatever her mission may be made the hairs on the back of Leliana's neck stand on end. She hoped that Loghain could get answers from Marjolaine, but Leliana held little hope for that; all bards were trained to resist interrogation and Marjolaine was no exception. The only small ray of hope Leliana had was that Marjolaine was rarely interrogated. The crafty bard was far too clever to be caught in anyone's web; until now, that is. Leliana grinned at the thought of Marjolaine's ire when she woke up behind prison bars at Vigil's Keep and that it was her former apprentice and lover who put her there. _Revenge is a dish best served cold,_ Leliana thought wickedly.

Leliana turned her head and looked at Zevran, his horse galloping along beside her. He was in high spirits as they raced south toward Vigil's Keep. The wind whipped his light hair away from his face and made the skin of his cheeks flush red. His eyes flashed brilliantly, his excitement shining in them as bright as the sun in high summer. He sensed Leliana looking at him and turned to her, giving her a large smile and a swarthy laugh. He enjoyed the hunt as much as she did and she found herself laughing along with him as they raced toward Vigil's Keep.

"Ah, the hunt makes you feel so alive _mia cara_!" Zevran shouted, standing in the stirrups and raising an arm above his head in a grandiose flourish. "We are ridiculously awesome, my lovely Leliana!"

Leliana threw her head back and laughed, the sound merry to Zevran's ears. While she was at the Chantry in Lothering, she used to punish herself at the thoughts of 'the grand game' and how much she had enjoyed her work. She devoted herself to prayer and reflection, hoping to find a sense of peace and reconciliation for her life as a bard. However, she _was_ a bard and there had been no sense denying it to herself; she _did_ enjoy the work. She enjoyed the intrigue and hunt as much as Zevran did. Now that she was working for a more noble purpose, she could revel in her skills and not feel as guilty about it. "I have enjoyed the hunt!" she cried out, throwing her head back once again and laughing merrily.

Zevran settled back into the saddle, his gaze falling briefly to the unconscious bard slung on the back of Leliana's horse. He jutted his chin at Marjolaine, looking toward Leliana as he did so. "Why do you suppose she is in Amaranthine?"

Leliana shook her head, shrugging her shoulders as she did so. "I do not know, but she is certainly not here for a visit." She turned her eyes back toward Zevran, looking at him with concern. "Marjolaine _hates_ Ferelden; she says the country smells like wet dog. She would not come here without reason, and certainly not without having been paid a great deal of coin. She is either here to gather information or to fulfill a contract for a client."

"Who would hire her, do you think? As she was your employer and mentor, you must have an idea."

Nodding, Leliana turned her gaze back to the road ahead of them; they could finally see the outline of Vigil's Keep in the distance. "Marjolaine's services are extravagantly expensive. While many Orlesian nobles will willingly pay outrageous sums of money to employ bards, there are very few within Orlais that can afford her services. Whoever hired her must be either very high in the nobility or very wealthy. Since there are few independently wealthy people in Orlais who are not part of the aristocracy, I tend to think it _was_ someone high up in the nobility."

They drew closer to Vigil's Keep, its form growing larger with every passing moment. "Well, _mia cara,_ I hope that our taciturn friend can encourage Marjolaine to divulge what she knows," Zevran said, giving one last look at Marjolaine's form before scoffing lightly. "For her sake, I hope she breaks quickly; I would not wish to test Loghain if I were in her place. He is a rather sour fellow toward spies and those that threaten what—and who—he loves. Especially if they are of the Orlesian persuasion."

Leliana and Zevran entered the walls of Vigil's Keep not long after, heading directly to the prison and where Sergeant Maverlies stood guard. Zevran untied Marjolaine from the back of Leliana's horse, hefting the unconscious bard over his shoulder and carrying her to the door. Maverlies quickly opened it, allowing Zevran and Leliana to descend the stairs to the prison area. She studied the unconscious bard, not recognizing the woman as anyone she had seen at Vigil's Keep before.

"Who is this, Warden?" Maverlies asked, turning her attention to Leliana as she followed Zevran down the stairs. He reached the bottom where a guard on duty moved to open one of the cells. Zevran quickly shook his head. "No, my friend, this prisoner needs to be put in a solitary confinement cell. The Commander and Warden Loghain will want to interrogate her personally and that would be best done away from the general miscreants, yes?"

Leliana turned to Maverlies as Zevran spoke with the guards. "This is an Orlesian bard that we captured in Amaranthine. We need to let the Commander know that we have arrived with her." Maverlies nodded. "I understand Warden. I'll stay here and help to watch the prisoner while you gather the Commander and Warden Loghain."

Zevran emerged from the solitary confinement area, rounding the corner and beginning to climb the stairs to the surface. "Our bard is still sleeping, however I shall give her the antidote to awaken once Lhiannon and Loghain have arrived." Zevran turned his attention to Maverlies. "Make sure you watch her very carefully if she does happen to awaken, Sergeant. This bard is a crafty and dangerous one."

Leliana and Zevran quickly climbed the stairs and emerged outside, running toward the main doors of the Vigil to inform Lhiannon and Loghain of their arrival and that they had brought a guest with them.

* * *

The feel and smell of magical energies wafted through the air of the training room as Lhiannon and Anders worked with Jowan on his spells. As Lhiannon and Anders guided and taught him, they discovered that Jowan's natural talents lay among entropy—spells that crippled and damaged their targets—and kept the focus of the day's lessons on the various hexes that a mage could cast.

Anders had been especially disturbed by Jowan's stories of blood magic and how he had tried to hide it from the other mages at Kinloch Hold. As Jowan gestured with his hands while speaking, Anders suddenly reached out and grabbed one, looking at the neat network of scars that lined Jowan's fingers, palm, and wrist. He scowled at the thought of his friend using blood magic in any capacity.

"Maker's breath, Jowan! What in the bloody hell were you thinking?" Anders gasped, turning Jowan's hand over and examining both sides. "Whatever possessed you to even _think _about learning blood magic?" Anders could never understand the allure of such magic; all blood magic did was open doors that should have remained closed. It brought the full wrath of the templars down on mages and made their oppression worse. The Chantry, when it discovered a blood mage in their midst, clamped down hard on all the other mages within that Circle, further restricting their movements and giving the templars open permission to perform the Rite of Tranquility on any mage they saw fit—dangerous or not.

Jowan shrugged, shaking his head and pulling his hand out of Anders'. Lhiannon watched as Jowan's face began to color bright red from both anger and embarrassment. "I don't know, Anders. Why did you always escape from the Circle?"

"I wanted to be free, to be out from under the boot of the Chantry and templars," Anders growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Jowan. "I didn't leave because I wanted to practice blood magic, or even learn about it. Maker's breath, I just wanted to be _free_, to use magic to heal others or zap them with lightning for being fools."

Lhiannon held her hands up to both mages, hoping to still their anger before the situation became too heated. "Jowan, it's a perfectly legitimate question. Why _did_ you want to learn blood magic?"

With a heavy sigh, Jowan moved to sit on the floor, beckoning Anders and Lhiannon to join him. "I never wanted to tell you; I denied it to myself for a long time. At first, I thought I was just curious about it. It was the forbidden magic…I wondered what secrets the other mages were hiding about it." Propping his elbows on his knees, Jowan set his chin in his hands, closing his eyes as he pondered his thoughts. "The real reason I wanted to learn blood magic was because I wanted to be more powerful."

"More powerful?" Anders asked, his hands setting on his knees as they spoke.

Jowan nodded slowly, opening his eyes to look at his two best friends. "I knew I wasn't able to keep up with the two of you. I always felt like the third wheel, like a minor mage compared to you two. I just wanted to prove to everyone—and myself—that I was just as adept at magic as the two of you."

"I don't understand," Lhiannon said, stretching her legs out in front of her, resting back on her hands as her brows furrowed in confusion. "You always seemed to be able to keep up with us; hell, you were better than me at entropy spells, Jowan."

Jowan shook his head at Lhiannon. "No, Lhi. It may have looked that way, but it took every available ounce of my mana to keep up with your basic spells. I gave up trying to match Anders with healing spells long before that. His healing magic rivaled Wynne for sure, and probably the First Enchanter."

"But _blood magic_, Jowan?" Anders asked, his face scowling as he gestured angrily at Jowan. "All blood magic does is bring the templars down on us. Mages like you are the reason we are feared and hunted!"

"I don't deny it, Andy," Jowan sighed sadly, his gaze flitting once again between Lhiannon and Anders. "It was wrong; I know that. I knew it then, and I know it now. I promised Lhi I wouldn't use it unless there was no other option, but it will be hard. Blood magic _sings_, Andy. It _calls_ to you." He paused a moment before speaking again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I asked Lhi for the Rite of Tranquility, Andy. I was a coward."

"_What?" _Anders gasped, not believing his own ears. No mage asked for the Rite, ever. It was a fate worse than death, a convenient ploy used by the templars to ensure that mages kept in the Chantry's line. It was Anders' firm belief that Tranquility was used far more often and for many more reasons other than to keep mages from being a danger to themselves or others. More than once he wondered if mages who questioned the Chantry or the templars were made Tranquil simply to silence them.

"That's why we need to help him overcome the call of blood magic," Lhiannon said, looking at Anders with determination. "I won't let him do that. I won't let him fall and become a maleficar either, Andy. It's up to us to help him and keep him out of the templars' grasp."

"_Please_, Andy," Jowan implored, reaching out and grasping his friend's shoulders. "Help Lhi help me."

Anders shrugged off Jowan's hands, glaring at his friend angrily. "It's not that I won't help you…perish the thought. I'm angry that you even _considered _such a barbaric thing as Tranquility!" Anders' face softened a bit; he reached out and punched Jowan in the shoulder, scoffing mightily as he did so. "Don't ever mention the Rite again, Jowan. _Ever. _You hear me?"

"Oh, don't worry," Jowan grinned, holding his hands up in front of him in supplication. "I won't."

As Lhiannon gave a small chuckle at the interaction between her friends, a guard appeared at the door of the training room, breathing heavily as if he had been in a great hurry to find her. "Commander! Warden Leliana and Zevran have returned from Amaranthine with their prisoner."

Lhiannon quickly stood; Anders and Jowan both gave her looks of confusion. "Andy, keep working with Jowan on his magic." Turning her attention back to the guard, Lhiannon began to stride across the room toward him. "Has Warden Loghain been told?"

"Yes, Commander. He has already left for the prison. He was the one who told me you were here."

Brushing past the guard in the doorway, Lhiannon quickly made her way through the Vigil and outside, breaking into a run toward the prison as soon as she was on level ground.

* * *

"Wake up!"

A gruff, angry voice and a sharp shake to the shoulder brought Marjolaine up from the depths of her unconscious mind. Her eyes felt like weights had been attached to them and her body felt sluggish and weak. A burning sensation had settled into one of her shoulders and it took her a moment to remember that it was an arrow that caused the injury. She tried to brush at her sleepy eyes, but found that her arms were manacled behind her. Opening her eyes at last, Marjolaine saw that she was seated in a hard wooden chair in a sparsely furnished room, her wrists manacled behind the back and a chain connecting her ankles to a ring set in the floor. Several blurry faces loomed before her. Blinking rapidly a number of times to clear her vision, the faces coalesced into recognizable shapes at last.

Standing before her was her former apprentice, Leliana, who Marjolaine had to admit looked simply ravishing in new leathers, the Grey Warden griffon emblazoned on the front. She stood next to—and very close to as well—an elf that Marjolaine remembered seeing in Denerim before; a Crow, if she remembered correctly. She had noticed him leaving the royal palace under the watchful eye of Rendon Howe back during the civil war. Marjolaine's contacts within the palace itself said the Crow had been hired by Howe in the Regent's name to track and dispose of the Grey Wardens that had survived the disastrous battle at Ostagar. Obviously, the Crow had failed. Marjolaine's opinion of the Antivan Crows, already low to begin with, sank even lower. In her opinion, Crows were no match for the bards of Orlais.

_Well, speak of the devil and he appears. _Standing closest to Marjolaine was that aforementioned former Regent, now Grey Warden and Teyrn of Gwaren. From how close Loghain loomed over her, Marjolaine assumed it was his curt voice and rough hand that shook her awake. He glowered at her, arms crossed over his armored chest and a seemingly permanent scowl on his face. The tales told in Orlais of the Murderer of River Dane were not far off the mark; he was as obstinate and taciturn as the tales suggested. The Teyrn was a hated man in Orlais, especially among those in the nobility that lost fortunes and status upon the defeat of Meghren and the subsequent retreat of the chevaliers and Orlesian troops from Ferelden. That he became such a revered figure in Ferelden—a living legend—was a black eye to the Orlesian aristocracy. A great reward awaited the bard that brought his head back to Val Royeaux; many had tried and Marjolaine herself had entertained the notion of taking that mission more than once. However, she was nothing if not clever. That assignment was fraught with many dangers and while she was not opposed to danger, she opted for more certainty in her missions. The Teyrn was like a cockroach—impossible to kill by any method, or so it seemed. There had been more than one attempt on the Teyrn's life over the years and the man simply refused to die decently.

Between Loghain and Leliana stood the Warden Commander, whom Marjolaine had the distinct pleasure of meeting in Denerim when Leliana confronted her all those months ago. She had a new scar on her face, snaking away from her eye toward her temple. Marjolaine found that rather than distract from the pleasant face of the Commander, it added an aura of mystery to her. Marjolaine knew she had received that scar in fighting the archdemon; Warden Commander Lhiannon was a formidable foe, one that her contacts in Orlais were well aware of. It was Marjolaine, of course, who had informed her contacts of the Warden Commander's tenacity and deadly nature, both with magic and steel. She, too, had refused to die decently, much like the man that shared her bed.

As Marjolaine's eyes fell on each of those glaring at her, a raspy chuckle escaped her dry, cracked lips. "My lovely Leliana," she crooned, her voice hoarse from disuse. "You have surrounded yourself with rather interesting companions." As she spoke, she slowly moved her fingers toward the sleeve of her dress, looking for the small lockpick that she always carried. Her fingers crept over the fabric of her sleeve, searching for the discreet pocket there. All of her dresses had discreet pockets sewn into the sleeves for just such a tool. Marjolaine's fingers reached the small opening of the pocket, her fingers slipping inside to find…nothing.

"Looking for this?" Lhiannon grinned, holding the small pick between her armored fingertips. Before they moved her from the cell to the interrogation chair to awaken her, Leliana and Lhiannon had searched Marjolaine for just such tools. Leliana knew all Marjolaine's tricks and hiding places; they had only found the one pick. As she twirled the lockpick in her fingers, Lhiannon watched as a slight shadow crossed Marjolaine's face before the bard gave her a serene smile. "Well, Warden Commander, it seems that Leliana has told you all of my secrets."

"Secrets," Loghain scoffed angrily, his icy glare never leaving Marjolaine's face as he continued to loom over her. "Yes, you _would_ know of secrets." He uncrossed his arms, leaning forward so that his face was mere inches from Marjolaine's; she could feel the anger coming off him in waves and felt his icy blue stare. "You _will_ share these secrets, bard, one way or another. Make no mistake about it."

Marjolaine batted her lashes at Loghain, watching with delight as his eyes narrowed at her and a sneer of what must have been disgust cross his features. She was confident that whatever challenge he threw at her, she would meet, stonewalling his efforts with her years of training and practice. "I certainly shall tell you my secrets, for the right price of course."

"And would keeping your life be the right price?" Loghain sneered, leaning closer and growling into Marjolaine's ear. "Or perhaps all of your digits? I know many ways to obtain your cooperation. It has been some time since I have had such a discussion with an Orlesian…guest."

A defiant laugh escaped Marjolaine's lips; Loghain found he had to fight to keep from lashing out and slapping that grin of her impudent face. The thought was tempting. "Simple Ferelden," Marjolaine chuckled, shaking her head slowly. "You think I have not been threatened in such a manner before? Truly, you simply _must_ do better than that."

Lhiannon stood behind Loghain, feeling his anger growing with every passing moment. She watched as his fists clenched and opened, the leather palms of his gauntlets squeaking with the movement as he continued to loom over the bard. She was about to pull Loghain back when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned her head to see Leliana standing next to her, he lips close to her ear.

"Commander," she whispered, keeping an eye on her former mentor. "Might we all move outside and have a moment?"

Lhiannon turned to look at Leliana, who raised her brow expectantly. With a single nod, Lhiannon turned to regard Marjolaine, her eyes narrowing and never taking her hard glare off the bard as she spoke. "Warden Loghain, Warden Leliana, Zevran; a word with you outside?"

Scowling, Loghain turned from Marjolaine and stalked toward the door. He looked at the guards flanking either side of it. "Keep close watch on the bard," he growled, pointing to where Marjolaine sat secured in her chair. "Were I you, I would consider having my swords at the ready and pointed at her chest." Loghain turned back toward Marjolaine, a sneer crossing his features. "It would not vex me to have one less Orlesian breathing our air."

"Who wouldn't want to breathe less of your air?" Marjolaine said nonchalantly. "It smells like wet dog and _Fereldens_. Most unpleasant."

Loghain scoffed, rolling his eyes as he followed Lhiannon toward the door. He was looking forward to wiping that impudent smirk off her face and breaking her defiant attitude. It had been some time since he had the opportunity to interrogate an Orlesian prisoner, and he was looking forward to the challenge.

The Grey Wardens and Zevran left the interrogation room and gathered just beyond the closed door. Once they were all ready, Leliana looked between Lhiannon and Loghain. "All bards, including Marjolaine, have been trained to keep their secrets if interrogated. Simply asking questions will not produce results. She will either give you no answers or answers meant to deflect and confuse."

"So are we to begin torturing her right away?" Loghain asked, casting an icy glance toward the door beyond which Marjolaine sat. He returned his cool gaze to Leliana, motioning toward the door with a wave of his armored hand. "I for one have no issues with having bards and spies pressed for information, but the neither the Commander nor Grey Wardens need such a reputation, especially with the Chantry."

"I'm afraid I have to agree," Lhiannon said, nodding her head. "I can't condone outright torture, no matter how effective it may be. We need to get the information out of Marjolaine, but through different means." Lhiannon watched as Loghain caught her eye, raising his brows in questioning. Lhiannon could just picture his thoughts, turning back to the trial of Isolde Guerein and what had transpired there. She scoffed, giving him a look of dark humor and shaking her head. No, blood magic was definitely out of the question. For now.

Zevran was rubbing his chin in thought, looking at the door to the interrogation room. "Perhaps, my lovely Warden, there are other ways to make our caged bird sing." Lhiannon turned to Zevran, who was tapping one slender finger against his lips in thought, his eyes far away as he continued to look at the door. He turned and began to take a few steps, seemingly putting his thoughts into order. "Marjolaine thinks she is an exceptionally clever bard, one of the very best in Orlais, yes?"

Leliana scoffed, rolling her eyes and placing her fists on her hips. "She is perhaps _the_ best in Orlais. What of it?"

Zevran stopped his pacing, turning to look at Leliana with a finger raised in the air for emphasis. "Then let us use her arrogance and reputation against her. For all the exceptional bard that she is, she _was_ caught in stinking Ferelden by smelly, simple, pathetic Fereldens. Well, an Orlesian and an Antivan who have adopted Ferelden as home." He quickly looked to Loghain—who rewarded Zevran with a dark scowl—and Lhiannon, who narrowed her own eyes at the elf. "Present company excepted, of course."

"Of course," Loghain growled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I suggest you get to whatever point you are trying to make," he growled sharply.

Zevran's eyes flicked over to Loghain, his demeanor seemingly unaffected by the Warden's dark and icy glare. "Attack her personally; by personally, I mean attack her skills and reputation. If she was such a well trained, exceptional bard, how did she come to be captured by simple _Fereldens_? We _are_ supposed to be one step above barbarians in the Orlesians eyes, no?"

Lhiannon's eyes lit up and an evil grin crossed her features. "She must be losing her edge, having been caught so quickly by us poor, simple, stupid Fereldens," she said, her voice beaming with sarcastic humor. "Her benefactors must either be losing their edge or wanted to give her an impossible assignment so she would be caught and eliminated. Or, she's simply not good enough any longer and should retire to a quiet chalet in the Orlesian countryside."

Loghain quickly caught on to what they were suggesting, a brow rising as he considered the developing plan. "Far be it from me to not insult an Orlesian's pride and supposed superiority," he agreed, a corner of his mouth ticking upward in a smug grin. A hand on his arm drew his attention to Lhiannon, who stood beside him with that malicious smirk still on her face. "Perhaps, when you speak to her next, you should be wearing your River Dane armor, yes? Maybe tell her the story of how you obtained the armor? It is a _fascinating_ tale."

"I _do_ enjoy telling that story," Loghain smirked, smugness in his voice as he remembered well the battle of River Dane and the chevalier that was the previous owner of said armor. "Especially to Orlesians. Offending Orlesians is one of my favorite diversions and my wearing of that armor offended them for _years_." His eyes flicked toward Leliana. "Present company excepted, of course."

Leliana shrugged. "I'm part Ferelden too. Besides, _Ferelden _is my home now; I have no allegiance to Orlais any longer."

Loghain continued to smirk, his gaze felling upon Lhiannon beside him. He found himself looking forward to donning his River Dane armor once again.

* * *

_This chapter kept writing itself...on and on and on... I had to split it in two; hopefully the second installment of this chapter will be up in a couple of days. Depends on how long I indulge in the DA2 obsession. ;)_

_Speaking of DA2, I don't know how, or even if, I will be incorporating anything from there into the story. At this point, I may have some correspondence pass between my character there, Korrine Hawke, and Lhiannon. I'm only about 25 hours into DA2 and just about ready to take on the Deep Roads, so I'm not far enough into the story to make a firm decision. Given the passage of time in DA2 and in this story, I'm not sure how I will work it, if at all._

_Many thanks go out to my reviewers Arsinoe de Blassenville, Dante Alighieri, Aura of Darkness Night, Gene Dark, and sleepyowlet. I can tell we're all obsessed with DA2 as the hits and reviews have gone down (at least I hope it's DA2 and not because I suck). My Loghain figurine now stands proudly next to my screen, scowling at me if I ignore his tale for too long.  
_

_Thanks also to the Cheeky Monkeys for being, well, cheeky monkeys. And thanks to those of you who read and bookmark; I appreciate it.  
_


	6. Tales to Be Told

Varel yawned mightily as he returned from the prison where he had been checking with the guards on the status of their Orlesian bard. Marjolaine had been placed into a solitary confinement cell with only one small window high in the wall facing the north side of the fortress and a small one in the door, allowing only dim light to filter in from the prison hallway. The cell would be dim enough in the daytime; by night, it would be almost completely dark. Warden Loghain hoped that by making Marjolaine's confinement difficult and disconcerting, it would soon begin to fray her nerves, making her more susceptible to his eventual interrogation. What was it Oghren called it? "Stewing in her own juices?" Varel was not inclined to disagree; leaving the bard in solitary for a few days should soften her up a bit.

As he walked through the darkened hallways of Vigil's Keep toward his chambers—where he could swear he heard his bed calling out to him in a siren song of bliss—he saw a small light under the door to his office. Concerned that perhaps he left a lantern or wall sconce burning before he left, he quietly opened the door, his brows furrowing. Slight scratching sounds could be heard from within. Mice were an occasional problem in the Vigil, but between Ser Pounce-A-Lot and the Commander's mabari Tiberius, their population had decreased considerably. Still, rodents were an occasional irritant and Varel hoped the scratching sounds were not those of a mouse gnawing on an important document.

As he peered around the door, he saw that a figure sat at his desk, the light of the single lantern on the top only barely chasing the shadows back from around it. The wan light reflected off the golden hair of the woman sitting at his desk, a quill in her hand as she scratched into one of the Vigil's ledgers.

"Aura?" Varel asked, his voice low and nonplussed. "What are you doing here so late?"

Aura gave a start, dropping her quill onto the desk and placing her hand over her heart as if to keep it from leaping out of her chest. She gave a small cry of surprise at the sound of Varel's voice. "Maker's breath, Varel! You startled me!"

With a chuckle, Varel drew closer to his desk, settling into a chair across from where Aura sat in his. Since her arrival at Vigil's Keep several months ago, she had been a tremendous help in keeping the ledgers and the day-to-day business affairs of the Vigil in order. Her help had taken extra work off both his and Warden Loghain's desks as well as easing the burdens thrust on the Commander. Aura was a tireless worker, content to spend many hours of the day at her small workspace in Varel's office writing in the ledgers as Varel tended to other matters as Seneschal.

Aura was an inquisitive woman, asking Varel many questions about her new home at Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine as they worked side by side in his office. Varel grew up in Amaranthine and was proud to share its history with Aura, who had never been to Ferelden before she came with Kristoff and the Orlesian Grey Wardens. He spoke of his days as Rendon Howe's seneschal, briefly held as it was. Varel's face would darken at the mention of the former Arl; he and Rendon rarely saw eye to eye on any matters regarding the arling and they were known to have heated debates within the halls of Vigil's Keep. Varel was not an easily flappable man, but Rendon sorely tested him on numerous occasions. Finally, after questioning one of Rendon's decisions regarding taxation upon the farmers in the countryside, Varel had been demoted…and flogged in the courtyard for his supposed impudence as a warning to others that may question the Arl's edicts. After that, Varel secretly worked within Amaranthine to try and undermine Rendon Howe's authority and growing depravity. While many of the freeholders and several banns quickly supported Varel, others were either reluctant to do so for fear of retribution or outright refused and threatened to turn Varel over to Arl Howe for punishment. When Kristoff and the Grey Wardens arrived, they found Varel working at Vigil's Keep and immediately reinstated his title of Seneschal. They had, of course, watched over him for the first few days of his new tenure, but once they saw his expertise and depth of knowledge on Amaranthine and its people, they quickly relaxed their watch over him and let him run matters as he saw fit.

"I apologize, Aura," Varel chuckled, leaning back in the chair and bringing a foot up to rest on his other leg. "I saw the light under my door and thought I left a lantern or sconce burning. I wanted to double check before retiring for the evening."

Aura waved Varel's apology off, a small smile crossing her features. "It's all right, Varel, really." She sighed wistfully and Varel thought he caught a sense of sadness coming from Aura as she spoke. "I couldn't sleep," she confessed, massaging her temple with slender fingers. She winced slightly at the tenderness there as the smile fell from her face.

Varel put his foot back on the floor, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Is something wrong?" he asked, watching as the composure in Aura's face seemed to crack somewhat. She lowered her gaze to the desktop and grimaced slightly, rubbing a hand over her face before bringing her eyes up to meet Varel's once again. She sighed sadly. "I'm sorry, Varel. Today would have been our wedding anniversary…"

Nodding slowly, Varel sighed himself, a small sound in the silence of the room around them. "I'm sorry."

"No need," Aura quickly said, shaking her head and waving off the newest apology. "Though being here at Vigil's Keep…being busy…helps me cope with Kristoff's loss, some days are still frightfully hard. I miss him." Aura leaned forward, propping her elbows on the top of Varel's desk and holding her head in her hands. She sat unmoving for a moment before sighing and shaking her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Varel. I don't mean to burden you. You don't need to hear this."

Pulling his chair forward, Varel rested his arms on the top of the desk, leaning into them as he watched Aura. He felt a pang of melancholy settle into his heart at Aura's grief and sadness. It pained him to see her so; in the months she had been at Vigil's Keep, Varel found himself becoming fond of her. Though Aura was generally a quiet woman, she had a bright and cheery disposition that noticeably lifted the spirits of those around her. Vigil's Keep seemed to be a less happy place when Aura was discontented. As her cheerfulness was infectious, so too was her sadness.

"When I was younger," Varel began, his eyes focused on a knot in the wood of his desktop, "I had been married to a fine girl from Amaranthine. We were very, very young; both of us barely out of our teens when we married." Varel sighed wistfully, a small smile crossing the planes of his angled face as he ran a finger around the perimeter of the knot he was staring intently at. "When we found out Rosa was with child shortly thereafter, we were both overjoyed. Our lives couldn't be more perfect; I had just begun working for a young Arl Howe as a scribe and page after the war. With my salary, Rosa would be able to stay home and raise our child. Life would have been lean for us, but it did not matter.

"When the time came for the child to be born, a healer came running to the Vigil to find me. I knew something was dreadfully wrong with just one look at the woman. I dropped the ledger I was working on and sprinted home to find my wife screaming in pain and blood everywhere. The healers explained that the baby had not turned yet and as they tried to help turn the baby, Rosa began bleeding. By the time I got there, our bed was soaked her lifeblood and my wife was no longer able to push and try to bring our child into the world."

Aura watched as Varel's eyes began to shimmer as he stared intently at the knot in the wood he had been circling with his finger. He cleared his throat to try and rid it of the lump that suddenly formed in it; the lump that always formed when he thought of his lost wife and child.

"She and the child both died not long after. It was a girl." A girl born with dark eyes and hair, much like the Commander's own. It was part of the reason Varel found such kinship with the Commander; not only did she remind him of his lost daughter, Lhiannon would be nearly the same age. The Maker did indeed work in strange ways. "Though the years have passed and the pain of their loss isn't as great, it still remains. I think of them often, especially when the roses in the garden are blooming."

Aura reached across the desk, grasping both of Varel's hands lightly in her own. Her hands were warm and soft, gentle as they held his larger, more calloused hands. His thumbs began to gently stroke her skin. "I'm so sorry," she said, looking at Varel's hands clasped in her own. His kind words and disposition made the burden of Kristoff's loss easier to bear.

Nodding, Varel continued his story. "I named the girl Rosalyn, after her mother, before their funeral. I spread their ashes here in the rose garden at Vigil's Keep." Varel looked up and caught Aura's gaze, smiling wanly. He squeezed her hands tenderly. "I thought it fitting for them to be there among the roses." Aura returned his wan smile with one of her own; even as small a smile as it was, it lifted Varel's spirits.

"Thank you, Varel, for staying with me," Aura said, her smile brightening ever so slightly.

"It was my pleasure."

Varel made no move to take his hands from hers; Aura made no move to pull her hands from his. They remained so until Aura's eyes began to feel heavy with exhaustion and she excused herself, her burden lessened by Varel's soothing, calm presence. He walked her to her door, his hand at the small of her back to guide her.

* * *

Loghain had ordered that Marjolaine be fed decently when she was brought to the prison, but kept as uncomfortable as possible otherwise so as to fray her nerves. The bard was accustomed to soft beds, fine clothing and meals, and personal freedom. She had a thin straw mat on which to sleep, was fed plain gruel at every meal, clothed in plain prison garb, and was kept in solitary confinement, her only contact with others coming when she was fed or constantly awakened by the banging of fists on her door or the occasional rough shake to her shoulder. The guards had been ordered to check her every half hour during their shifts and wake her if she slept; after several days of little sleep, Marjolaine was beginning to look haggard. Her cool, aloof demeanor began to fray; she snapped at the guards who spoke to her and began to lose her temper with little provocation. It was just what Loghain was looking for and had instructed the guards to inform him when Marjolaine began to unravel.

When word finally came to Loghain of Marjolaine's changing demeanor after several days of solitary confinement, he decided it was finally time to pay the Orlesian bard another visit. After dismissing the guard who had brought the news, he had passed through the hallway from his office into Lhiannon's and beckoned her to follow him into their chambers, where he went to the armor stand holding his River Dane armor and gazed at it wistfully.

"I have missed wearing this armor every day," he began, running a hand down the breastplate, polished to a high shine and gleaming brightly in the light. Lhiannon had marveled at how pristine the armor still looked, given its age and the abuses it had endured. Loghain had treated this armor reverently over the years; there were no signs of rust, either now or ever. It had been repaired many times, but the lack of obvious marks spoke of the talent and quality of service Loghain had received from his armorers; Lhiannon knew that Loghain was very selective in just who was allowed to work on his armor. He had also paid well for such repairs.

Lhiannon helped him buckle into his armor, her efficiency now as good as any squire Loghain had ever had. Wearing this armor was almost like going back in time; a time when he, Maric, and Rowan had worked tirelessly and breathlessly to restore Ferelden after Meghren's head adorned the castle in Denerim. This was the armor he wore to the victory parade and for every major and minor event in Ferelden's history since that time. It was the armor he wore to Denerim when he rode there in feverish haste after learning of Rowan's death. It was the armor he wore to Maric's memorial service; the armor he wore years later at Ostagar and as he proclaimed himself Regent after Cailan's death. He wore it at the Landsmeet and in the battle that saw the archdemon fall. The armor was a part of him, sharing in the highs and lows of his life like an old friend.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Loghain watched as Lhiannon finished securing the last buckle of his breastplate, slowly running a hand down the smooth, cool surface. A far away look crossed her features as she watched her hand slowly travel down the metal encasing Loghain's battle scarred body. He could feel the subtle movements of her hand through the metal of the plate. A slow grin turned up the corners of her lips as her hand came to rest near the overlapping plates that covered his hips.

"Copper for your thoughts," he prompted as he pulled one of his gauntlets onto his hand, wiggling his fingers to settle the piece into place. Lhiannon smiled and looked up at him, her hand still resting on the plates of his armor.

"I had almost forgotten how magnificent you look in this armor," she smiled. "Like you, this armor has been through and seen much."

Loghain reached up, gently taking Lhiannon's chin in his unarmored hand and gently stroking her skin with his thumb. The smoothness of her skin was a complete contrast to the roughness of his fingers, shaped by years of war and labor. He brought her gaze up to meet his, a warmth in his eyes melting the ice within. "It has indeed seen much; victories and failures both." He lowered his lips to hers, a gentle, unhurried kiss that spoke of love both now and yet to come. After a languorous moment of his lips moving gently across hers, Loghain pulled back, a smirk on his features as he released Lhiannon's chin and moved his hand to graze her cheek. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and sighing softly at the warmth his hand conveyed. He lowered his head to hers, foreheads touching and eyes closed. They stood there for several moments, unmoving as each gave and received love from the other.

"I must go," Loghain said reluctantly, brushing his fingers along Lhiannon's cheek one last time before removing his hand and slipping it into the familiar gauntlet, its fit like a second skin on his hand. "I shall call for you when progress is made."

"You seem very confident," Lhiannon grinned.

"I have been looking forward to having this conversation," Loghain stated, his confidence growing now that his River Dane armor was completely in place. "The bard has taken longer to begin cracking than I anticipated; however, I am looking forward to completing the process."

* * *

The stairs leading to the prison were dimly lit, the shadows threatening to take over and plunge the underground rooms into complete darkness. Loghain entered the prison, pausing for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light before continuing, his steps echoing on the stairs as he descended into the main body of the structure. He channeled his confidence, and arrogance, into his gait; he knew that many people considered him taciturn and intimidating, and the River Dane armor made him even more so. He would use his presence to his advantage. The bard would undoubtedly challenge him, but he found himself welcoming it.

Marjolaine had been brought into the interrogation room once more, her hands manacled behind her and ankles chained through a ring in the floor as she stood in the chamber, several guards lining the perimeter. This time, however, she was blindfolded; Loghain wanted her to feel sensory deprived, edgy, and hopefully far more susceptible to questioning. Her head hung low as Loghain first entered the room, but as he came to a stop before her she raised her head toward the sound of his approach.

"There can only be one Ferelden that stomps about so," she snarled, spitting in what she hoped was Loghain's general direction.

Loghain reached out and jerked the blindfold off Marjolaine, pulling a lock of her hair in the process. She snarled and nearly lost her balance as he pulled the blindfold away and handed it to one of the guards nearby. He turned back toward Marjolaine, crossing his arms on his chest and glaring at her. Her eyes widened briefly at the sight of his River Dane armor. Loghain sneered at the bard.

"Have you ever heard the story of how I came to be in possession of this set of armor?" he drawled, looking at Marjolaine with contemptuous amusement.

"Who in Orlais does not know of the deeds of the Murderer of River Dane?" Marjolaine retorted, looking away from the offensive sight of Loghain in his bastardized chevalier armor. Loghain smirked as Marjolaine turned away, reaching out with his armored hand and grasping her chin to force her to look at him.

"I fought with the chevalier commander at the _battle_ of River Dane, freeing my country and taking back the throne that was stolen from the line of Calenhad," Loghain began, his voice ringing loudly within the interrogation chamber. He continued to hold Marjolaine's chin in his armored fingers, squeezing her skin firmly so that she could not jerk her face away. She would likely have marks there later, but Loghain found himself unconcerned. "We fought like savages for what seemed like hours. I finally disarmed the bastard and knocked him to the ground; he had lost his helmet during the fight and I punched him square in the face." Loghain's eyes narrowed as he spoke to Marjolaine, a sarcastic grin crossing his face. "It felt _magnificent_ to hear the crunching of bone when I hit him and broke his nose. I laughed."

"Bastard," Marjolaine mumbled, her voice muffled by Loghain's grip. Unaffected, Loghain continued with his story.

"After I broke his nose, I picked up the sword that he had lost. He had tried to roll over and grab it, but I kicked his hand away. Once I picked up his sword, I planted my foot in his chest." Loghain took his free hand and thumped his fist on the breastplate of his armor. "Right here, I believe. I then took his sword and plunged it into his neck. It felt _so good_ to kill that murdering bastard. Once he lay dead, I decided that instead of letting his armor rust into nothingness on the battlefield, I would take it as a souvenir and trophy. Something to remember the battle by as well as something to offend _every single Orlesian_ with." Loghain released Marjolaine's chin and stepped back, crossing his arms over his breastplate and holding his chin high. "I have offended Orlesians for _years_ with this armor and I will continue to do so long after you are gone."

"There are many Orlesians who would love to take that armor back from you and bring it rightfully home, along with your severed head," Marjolaine snarled, struggling in her bonds as her anger began to take hold. Loghain turned toward one of the guards, motioning toward the door with a nod of his head; the guard quickly left the prison as Loghain continued to press the issue with Marjolaine.

"Speaking of heads, have I told you how _wonderful_ Meghren's head looked as it rolled off his shoulders? King Maric took his head off with one great swing of his sword." Loghain leaned forward and put himself at eye level with Marjolaine, holding his right hand up as if he were holding a severed head by the hair. "I brought King Maric a pike, and he thrust Meghren's head upon it. Together, he, Queen Rowan, and myself took it outside the gates of the palace and plunged it into the ground for all of Ferelden to see." Loghain then stood up, crossing his arms over his breastplate and shaking his head in mock sadness. "It was too bad the head was too rotten to take to the victory parade; the Ferelden people would have loved to spit on it. Alas, the birds had done a fine job with it long before it rotted away."

"It's a shame that Emperor Florian did not send more chevaliers into Ferelden," Marjolaine growled, her anger growing at the snide Warden with each passing moment; she knew allowing her anger to get the best of her was exactly what he wanted and played right into his hands, but she felt powerless to stop herself. The days of discomfort and little sleep frayed her nerves and made it hard to remember the finer points of her training. "You Fereldens should have been exterminated like the barbaric vermin that you are!"

* * *

Lhiannon was sitting at her desk when a guard from the prison appeared at the office door, breathing heavily as he leaned into the doorjamb. "Commander, Warden Loghain requests your presence in the prison right away."

Lhiannon leaped up from her desk where she had been reviewing the latest update on Amaranthine and hurried to her armor stand, grabbing Spellweaver and strapping it to her side where it thudded dully against the plates of her armor. "Gather Warden Leliana and Zevran; have them meet me there as well." Her feet resounded with armored thuds as she quickly moved from her office and descended the stairs from her chambers, running through the halls of the Vigil.

Lhiannon nearly ran into Zevran and Leliana as they made for the doors leading to the prison. Taking the stairs downward two at a time, the three of them quickly entered the prison and made their way to the door of the interrogation room, pausing to listen to the exchange on the other side. They heard Marjolaine shouting insults at Loghain before they even reached the door. Lhiannon held a hand up, listening to the exchange; she did not want to break Loghain's progress by entering the room at that moment. He would sense her just beyond the door; the subtle shift in the taint a moment told her that he had.

"I invite them to try and assassinate me...again," Loghain said from beyond the door, his voice icy and venomous even through the thick wood and metal. "Many have tried and failed, sent back to Orlais in boxes having failed at the so-called 'grand game'."

"You dirty Fereldens would not know the grand game if it came with written instructions," Lhiannon heard Marjolaine snap, followed a moment later by a snort from Loghain.

"Perhaps you fear that if we cared to learn your grand game, we would be better at it," Loghain retorted, his voice abrupt but calm; Lhiannon could hear the acerbic humor in his voice. He was enjoying himself as he exchanged insults with the bard. "You certainly have not played the game well; and here I thought you were some extraordinary, superior bard, one of the most expensive in all of Orlais."

"I _am_ the most expensive in Orlais, mongrel."

"Well," Loghain drawled, the sarcasm plain in his voice. "If you are the best Orlais has to offer, I see no reason to worry about any other bards in Ferelden. You, the 'very best in Orlais', were so easily caught; they wouldn't stand a chance against even a dwarf who had drowned himself in their vile ale. Your employer, it seems, has far more coin than brains."

"Clotaire, at least, knows not to smell like wet dog around other people, unlike you barbarians!"

Lhiannon turned her gaze toward Leliana and Zevran as Marjolaine began to mutter in Orlesian. "Clotaire?" she whispered to Leliana. "Do you recognize that name?"

Leliana's brow furrowed and she brought a slender finger to her lips in thought. She thought for a moment before her face lit up and she nodded emphatically. "There was a man Marjolaine had a brief dalliance in Val Royeaux named Clotaire not long before I had to flee to Ferelden."

"What do you remember of him?" Lhiannon asked, listening as Loghain and Marjolaine continued to trade insults with each other.

"He was the seneschal of a small Grey Warden compound in Val Firmin. His family was one of the most powerful in the aristocracy and owned much of the land around the city," Leliana explained. "Until his family could secure him a place in the Imperial court in Val Royeaux, he went to train in warfare with the Grey Wardens; his oldest brother had been recruited into the Wardens and was assigned to the compound there. From there, Clotaire rose to seneschal."

"Val Firmin?" Lhiannon asked, her own brow furrowing. "I'm not familiar with that city."

"Val Firmin is on the Imperial Highway between Montsimmard and Mont-de-grace in the shadow of the Gamordan Peaks," Leliana explained. "It is not far from the shore of Lake Celestine. Clotaire's family owned much of the land between the Gamordan Peaks and the lake."

"You said, however, that he was in Val Royeaux when he and Marjolaine had their rendezvous?" Zevran asked.

"Yes. He had finally been called to Val Royeaux and court just before I left for Ferelden," Leliana said, nodding to the elf. "He and Marjolaine were quite close, for a time. It was one of the very few dalliances Marjolaine had that did not revolve around an employer."

Lhiannon suddenly cocked her head toward the door to the dungeon, a strange flare in the taint beckoning her attention. She paused for a moment, furrowing her brows and concentrating on the taint. "Leliana, Zev; wait here," she beckoned, holding up her hand as she cocked her head once more, as if listening for a low sound. Moving toward the door after a moment, Lhiannon pushed the handle open and entered the interrogation chamber.

Loghain was looming over Marjolaine, his blue eyes bright with fury and his fists clenched, causing the leather in the palms to squeak audibly. Marjolaine was also glaring at Loghain, her haggard face carrying bright red splotches on her cheeks. Under the anger, Lhiannon could see the weariness in Marjolaine's posture, as if she were ready to collapse to the floor and sleep for a week.

"Ah, Commander," Loghain growled, not taking his eyes off the Orlesian bard. "Our friend here was just telling me how she recently visited Redcliffe."

"Indeed?" Lhiannon said, folding her arms across her breastplate and looking at Marjolaine with interest. "Visiting an old friend there, perhaps?" Lhiannon narrowed her eyes at Marjolaine, a hunch crossing her mind. Was it possible that Marjolaine was in Redcliffe at the same time she was? It felt like a possibility. Lhiannon decided to play on her hunch. "You should have stopped by my guest quarters to say hello. I would have loved to chat with you about current events."

Marjolaine's eyes came to rest on Lhiannon, growing wide as recognition dawned on her face. "I think you were too busy with the Arl and your maleficar for a visit."

Lhiannon caught the small shift in Loghain's demeanor; he was feeling smug satisfaction at Marjolaine's revelation. She _had_ been in Redcliffe when Lhiannon was there and invoked the Right of Conscription for Jowan. Was she the one who gave Isolde the orders to assassinate her? If she did, where did her orders come from? Were Marjolaine and Isolde conspiring together on their own, or was a third party pulling the strings?

"Were you the one that convinced Isolde to attack the Commander?" Loghain snarled, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides. "Didn't want to dirty your own hands trying to kill a _Ferelden_?"

Marjolaine turned to Loghain, her eyes wide and bright with rage. "I was not paid to _kill_ her, idiot. I was paid to relay orders and return with information."

"And just _who_ was giving you orders and information to relay?" Loghain asked, his face twisted into a sneer of contempt. Marjolaine looked at Loghain and took a breath to answer, but paused and began to chuckle instead. Loghain repeated the question, but it was clear that Marjolaine was finished answering questions. Loghain continued to loom over her for a moment, seething at the bard before turning to the guards.

"Return this fool to her cell. Your orders regarding her incarceration still stand. If she falls asleep, shake her awake. If she continues to sleep, make her stand." Loghain turned to leave the chamber as the guards came forward, replacing the blindfold and half escorting, half dragging Marjolaine toward to her cell. As Loghain passed, Lhiannon turned and followed him out, listening to Marjolaine's chuckle as the door closed behind her. Irritation bloomed in Lhiannon's mind.

"She is starting to wear down," Loghain said as he, Lhiannon, Leliana, and Zevran emerged from the prison stairway and began to cross the courtyard back to the Vigil, each of them blinking rapidly or shielding their eyes from the sudden change in light. "I think it will only be a matter of time before she tells what she knows in full. We shall let her simmer a bit longer and then interrogate her again."

"You must keep the pressure on her," Leliana advised as they began to move in the direction of the Vigil. "Do not become complacent and do not show her any comforts; if you keep the pressure on her, she will eventually break." Leliana grinned. "Even the best bards will eventually break under the pressure."

The small group walked across the grounds outside Vigil's Keep, their thoughts to themselves as they made their way through the public commons past the residents and shops along the way. Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine were starting to get back to some semblance of normalcy; for that, Lhiannon was extremely pleased and grateful. "At least Marjolaine divulged a name," Lhiannon said as they climbed the stairs and entered the halls of Vigil's Keep. She ushered her companions into the audience chamber, leading them to a far corner where they could speak without being overheard. "Leliana, do you still have contacts within Orlais that may be able to shine more light on this Clotaire?"

The bard pursed her lips in thought, gazing intently at the floor as possibilities turned in her mind. After a moment, she brought her eyes to meet Lhiannon's, nodding once. "I believe I may have a discrete contact or two in Val Royeaux. It would entail me calling in all my owed favors though."

"Do it," Lhiannon nodded. "Make your discrete inquiries as quickly as possible."

A dark look crossed Loghain's features briefly. "The thought of working with Orlesian bards does not sit well, Commander," he growled irritably, slashing his hand through the air in emphasis. "Can we trust their information?"

Lhiannon looked at Loghain, her face firm with resolve. "If Leliana's contacts can help break this conspiracy open, then I'll take whatever help we can find. We need to try and glean information from them."

"As for trust," Leliana said, gesturing with her delicate hands, "there is an honor code among bards associated with certain guild houses in Val Royeaux." Loghain rolled his eyes and scoffed but before he could speak, Leliana held up a hand to stop him. "There is an unspoken agreement to pass certain information amongst themselves; they can betray other bards, but not those of their own guild house. It makes the grand game that much more exciting for everyone involved if the bards can use the information to build alliances or crush them."

"Honor amongst thieves?" Loghain snorted derisively. "An oxymoron. I still believe working with bards inadvisable. You should reconsider, Commander."

Lhiannon gave Loghain a look of warning. "I do not relish this thought either, Second, but if we have a lead it must be followed, as unsavory as the individuals involved are." She turned away from Loghain's dark look and nodded to Leliana. "My decision stands, Leliana. Make your inquiries."

"How truly desperate we must be to consort with _bards_," Loghain growled, shaking his head, "Maker help us." As much as Loghain thought the idea of help from Leliana's Orlesian contacts repugnant, the Commander had a valid point. If it meant stopping the conspirators and whoever was pulling their strings, he would have to reconcile himself to some sort of cooperation with them, not that he had to like it by any means.

Zevran turned to Loghain, noting the dark look on the Warden's face at the thought of contacting bards for information. "I have honored my agreement with your lovely Warden," Zevran grinned, giving a wink to Lhiannon as she turned her eyes to him. "I agreed to fight at her side for as long as she would have me. Is that not honorable?"

"From what I understand, that agreement was made with the end of her staff pointed at your throat," Loghain growled, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"That is true; her staff certainly made the decision quicker and easier," Zevran agreed, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. "I was hardly in a position to argue the point however. Your lovely one was very persuasive."

* * *

_I want to try and tell a little more about the supporting cast in this story, hence, the part about Varel and Aura. Though the vast majority of the story will be told revolving around Lhi and/or Loghain, I think throwing in the occasional tale of a supporting cast member helps keep things interesting. That's just me, anyway. :) Let me know what you think._

_Many thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Dante Alighieri, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Tyanilth, and TG2000. Also thanks to JackOfBladesX for reviewing RA (hopefully you'll get here eventually and see this!).  
_

_DA2 goes well; I've just started Act III and am about 42 hours into the game on my first playthrough. I have a nice long weekend this weekend, so I'm going to see just how much farther I can get. :)  
_


	7. News of the West

A fire burned merrily in the fireplace, the only light in Lhiannon and Loghain's chambers. Shadows encroached from the corners of the room, the dancing flames casting eerie undulating shadows around them. They had returned to their chambers some time before, after having a small amount of success in interrogating Marjolaine. At least she had given them a name, a small lead that would hopefully break the damned conspiracy wide open and end it once and for all and allow them to focus on other matters; matters such as sealing Urthemiel's breach, or the upcoming Landsmeet, or even their very own wedding. For now, however, those worries were far away.

They were lying on a woven carpet before the fire, the last of their armor and clothing discarded long before to lay in disorganized heaps on the floor, their arms and legs tangled together in a burning, yet unhurried, passion. Loghain delighted in the little giggles Lhiannon gave him as he ran his calloused fingertips and stubbled chin over the skin along her ribcage, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake as he moved up her body. Her giggles turned to breathless sighs as he ran teeth and tongue over her breasts, paying reverent attention to the hardened nipples. As he suckled her flesh, her hands ran over his burning skin tracing the network of scars, new and old, adorning the planes of his body. Her light touch sent waves of gooseflesh dancing across his skin. Languorously, his lips traveled upward skirting the flesh of her neck, gently sucking on the delicate skin in the hollow and causing her to gasp before she giggled low and seductively, sending the blood, as well as coherent thought, rushing to other places in his body. Grinning against her skin, he moved up, capturing her lips in his as his hand moved to her nub, caressing it as his lips moved against hers. She teased his lips with her tongue until he opened his mouth to accept it into his, swallowing her little moans as his hand continued its work. They spent time exploring each other's mouth until Lhiannon's breaths began to come quicker and she squirmed against his hand. Loghain guided her hand down to her nub to replace his as he entered her, his movements causing her fingers to press and rub the small bit of flesh in a delightful way. She climaxed not long after, panting breathlessly as her muscles clenched and back arched, urging Loghain to follow her and find his own release; as her clenching eased, she felt him begin to shudder inside her as his seed filled her. He settled his weight on her, his lips pressing a small kiss to the skin of her neck and his warm breath brushing against her skin. Lhiannon was content to bear his weight, whispering her words of love as he raised his head and caressed her face with his fingertips.

* * *

Frantic activity bustled within the Vigil when word came several days later from one of the outlying farmholds that a sizeable group of darkspawn had been spotted moving south out of the Dragonbone Wastes through the Feravel Plains. Lhiannon quickly gathered a number of the Grey Wardens and set off with haste along the North Road to intercept the darkspawn as they crossed it.

In a strange way, it felt good to be chasing the darkspawn again. Lhiannon had felt a nervous sort of energy building up within her over the last few weeks, fed by her worry over the situation in Amaranthine and the lack of progress in the search for Isolde. Though progress was being made every day in Amaranthine, she would not feel better until the city was supporting itself again. As for Isolde, the longer the scouts went with no credible information, the more likely it was that she had slipped through their fingers for good. Maker knows what sort of mischief she would cause being on the run. They had heard nothing out of Redcliffe in recent weeks, and that alone was disturbing. The darkspawn knew nothing of political maneuvering or intrigue and dealing with them was simple: kill or be killed. Ironically, Lhiannon found the simplicity of the task appealing.

Lhiannon decided to take Jowan with them to fight the darkspawn; he had only witnessed them once during the battle at Vigil's Keep against the Mother's army. Lhiannon wanted him to have more experience fighting them as well as showing him a degree of trust; he had worked hard since their recent conversation to improve his magical skills and it was time for Lhiannon to give him more leeway; Jowan's entropy spells in particular were improving markedly by the day. Lhiannon would soon need to make preparations to find Urthemiel's breach and wanted all her Wardens well prepared, whether they would they would go on the expedition or not; that meant having Jowan and Leliana experience more battles with the darkspawn firsthand. If they absolutely had to, she would take an expedition into the Deep Roads under the Vigil so that they could obtain the necessary experience.

She and Loghain led their party's horses along the North Road; Jowan, Anders, Leliana, and Zevran followed close behind. The taint began to seethe within her as they traveled west and drew closer to the darkspawn ahead of them. She turned to Loghain and saw his face pinched in concentration. "How many do you think we are dealing with?" she asked.

Lhiannon watched as Loghain's brows furrowed, deepening the look of concentration on his face. "I'd say two dozen, perhaps. We'll be able to tell the closer we come."

"If we get any closer," she scoffed, a grin on her face, "we'll be able to _count_ them." Loghain's eyes shifted toward her and caught the grin on her face. He scoffed, shaking his head. "Insolent woman."

Lhiannon's head turned suddenly as Zevran had appeared at her other side; he had kicked his horse forward to catch up and had his head turned so one ear was tilted toward the road ahead of them. "I hate to interrupt your banter, but I hear activity on the road ahead."

Turning toward Zevran, Loghain's brows furrowed once again. He was well aware of the keen eyesight and hearing elves possessed from his days with the Night Elves. Their ears were far sharper than those of humans or dwarves and Loghain had learned early on that their sense of hearing rarely failed them. He drew his horse to a stop, holding up a hand for the others traveling behind them to stop as well. "What do you hear?" he asked curtly.

"Well, not only do I hear the gnashing and hissing of darkspawn, but I also hear metal clashing and the shouts of men."

"Men?" Lhiannon asked, turning her gaze to the road ahead and squinting her eyes, hoping to see far enough ahead. She heard Zevran chuckle beside her. "My lovely Commander, you should not squint; it does not flatter your lovely face when you do so."

Loghain scoffed loudly, drawing Zevran's attention to him where he gave the elf an icy, cold stare. "You were saying you hear men up ahead?"

Zevran nodded. "Indeed. It sounds as if they are engaging the darkspawn."

"How far?" Loghain asked curtly, his own gaze turning to the road ahead. The roiling in the taint was becoming stronger now, pulling on his blood incessantly and thrusting icy shards into his mind. He may have underestimated the amount of darkspawn ahead; the taint was becoming far too active for only two dozen darkspawn.

Zevran's eyes also flicked to the road ahead before returning to glance between Lhiannon and Loghain. "Not very far at all. If the horses are skittish around the creatures, we may want to secure them here. We can go the rest of the way on foot." The party quickly dismounted and moved their horses off the road, securing them in a small thicket before drawing weapons and running toward the fighting ahead of them. It only took a few moments for the first sounds of battle to reach their ears.

The Grey Wardens rounded a bend in the road and saw a number of riders beset by a far greater number of darkspawn. Though the riders were heavily armored, they were in imminent danger of being overrun by the darkspawn. There was one mage in their midst, a woman casting entropy spells at the encroaching darkspawn in an effort to weaken them and turn the tide against them. Lhiannon heard Anders preparing a healing spell and sending it out to the group of fighters ahead while Jowan began chanting a spell conjuring a grease slick, dousing an approaching group of darkspawn with the substance before hurling a fireball at them. The grease quickly caught, devouring a number of the darkspawn within bright orange flames. Jowan then quickly turned toward another approaching group, conjuring a dark cloud of miasma that descended on the darkspawn, slowing their movements and making them more susceptible to the swords and arrows of the men fighting them. The twang of bows could be heard as Leliana and Zevran began firing arrows at darkspawn that attempted to flank the men fighting them.

Lhiannon and Loghain charged into a group of hurlocks, swords flashing as they found purchase in corrupted flesh. Loghain used his shield to force a hurlock away from the mage among the riders, stunning the beast with the force of the shield's hit. As he followed through with his shield, his sword arm came around and cleanly sliced through the hurlock's neck, the head landing with a dull thud on the ground. The body stood upright for a brief moment before falling and soaking the ground around it with blood and ichor.

Lhiannon cast a lightning spell at a small group of darkspawn, the bolts jumping from creature to creature and filling the air with the smell of ozone and charring darkspawn flesh. Using a two handed grip on Spellweaver, she swing it upward at an advancing hurlock, the blade catching the creature just below the waist and cleaving upward toward the opposite shoulder. It hissed in outrage, trying to claw at Lhiannon as it began to collapse toward the ground. Using her foot, she pushed the creature off her sword, reversing the grip and thrusting the sword through the darkspawn's chest.

The armored men, invigorated by the appearance of the Grey Wardens, began to cleave through the ranks of darkspawn. It was not long before they began to push the encroaching creatures back off the road. The mage among them shouted for Lhiannon to come close, wildly beckoning with her hands as she shot several darkspawn with magical bolts from her staff.

"Can you cast a death hex?" the mage asked, stepping aside as a genlock rushed her to be impaled on Spellweaver. Lhiannon kicked the genlock off her sword, turning toward the mage. "It isn't my strongest spell, but I know it," Lhiannon nodded.

"Cast the hex over the darkspawn; I'll follow with a death cloud," the mage said, pointing toward a group of darkspawn approaching from a field next to the road. "We need to make sure our people don't get caught up in the field."

Lhiannon nodded, motioning the mage forward and away from their fighters, putting herself between the mage and the approaching darkspawn. "Stay behind me then. I'll keep the darkspawn away." With a nod, Lhiannon and the mage moved quickly away from the fighters. Both began to speak the words to their spells as they moved. With a flick of her hand, Lhiannon cast the death hex out over the darkspawn, the dark cloud of energy settling around the approaching creatures. As soon as the cloud has settled around the darkspawn, the mage cast her death cloud, a dark mist that settled over the darkspawn. Immediately, darkspawn began collapsing onto the ground, writhing and clawing at themselves or the ground around them. Within moments, many of the remaining creatures lay on the ground dead or dying. Lhiannon turned toward the mage, nodding appreciatively and sheathing Spellweaver.

Loghain had been moving amongst the fallen darkspawn, thrusting his sword into any that still lived when a heavily armored figure approached him. Loghain could see that it was a man, but he was wearing a full face shield on his helmet, making his identity impossible to determine. For all the heavy armor, however, the man wearing it carried himself uncomfortably, as if he were not used to wearing such protection.

"Your Grace!" the armored man said, his tone implying great relief. Loghain thought he recognized the voice, but with the full shield on his helmet, he could not ascertain the identity. "I'm glad to see it is you and the Commander that have come to our aid."

Loghain sheathed his sword and saw Lhiannon bounding up to him from the corner of his eye. They traded a wary glance before Loghain looked at the stranger guardedly, moving himself to stand partially between Lhiannon and the armored stranger. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Would you mind removing your helmet so I can see your face?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" the man said, reaching up and removing the full helmet. Both Lhiannon and Loghain's eyes widened at the face of Teagan Guerein before them, his hair plastered to his head and face by sweat. His cheeks were reddened from the exertion and stress of battle.

"Bann Teagan? Forgive me, but what are you doing here?" Lhiannon began, her voice betraying her complete surprise at seeing Teagan not only on the road in this part of Ferelden, but seeing him dressed in heavy armor and wielding a sword. He had told her before that he was no fighter, but it looked like he was trying to change that either by choice or necessity. One did not need to be an expert to see that Teagan looked rather uncomfortable in this new role.

Teagan rested his helmet on his hip, his hand curled underneath it as he looked at Lhiannon. She saw that his pleasant face looked haggard, as if he had not slept well lately. He winced as she continued to regard him, giving a great sigh before lowering his gaze to the ground and shaking his head.

"Teagan, what's wrong?" Lhiannon asked, the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to stand. She took a step closer, bringing herself beside Loghain as she studied Teagan's troubled face.

"I am no longer the Bann of Rainesfere. Eamon stripped me of the title last week."

Lhiannon heard Loghain growl in disapproval from beside her. She reached forward and placed a hand on Teagan's shoulder, breathing a healing spell and trying to confer some comfort and sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Teagan," she whispered, closing her eyes and shaking her head slightly.

"Maker's breath," Loghain swore softly, slamming a fist into the leather palm of his other hand. "What happened, Teagan?"

Teagan looked up and his gaze moved from Loghain to Lhiannon. "Perhaps we should continue to Vigil's Keep," he suggested, lowering his voice so that only the three of them could hear. "It is a long story, not meant to be told out in the open."

Nodding, Loghain sheathed his sword and moved his shield to his back. "A wise precaution." Lhiannon nodded her agreement before a question crossed her mind. "You were headed to Vigil's Keep anyway, Teagan?"

"Yes. There are also other matters that you need to be aware of. Eamon and Isolde knew that as soon as I was stripped of my title and lands, Vigil's Keep would be the first place I would go."

A look was exchanged between Lhiannon and Loghain, one of both concern and suspicion. Teagan was right, however; this was a subject not meant to be told out in the open, in the middle of a busy road between Amaranthine and Highever. "Then let us return to the Vigil," Lhiannon said as she nodded. "I would hear your story, Teagan."

* * *

Teagan sighed gratefully as he sank into an overstuffed chair in the parlor just off the main audience hall in Vigil's Keep, nodding as he accepted the tankard of ale that Lhiannon handed to him before joining Loghain on a settee nearby. After the large party had arrived at Vigil's Keep, each took time to clean up and change into more comfortable clothes. The parlor had quickly become crowded as others joined them. Varel sat in another chair nearby while Nathaniel pulled the matching ottoman aside and perched himself on it. Several of Teagan's entourage had also joined them. One was his friend and mage, Raelyn, who had grown up in Redcliffe before being taken to Kinloch Hold as an adolescent. She was only a few years younger than Teagan, and the two had known each other for a time before her abilities manifested. Raelyn specialized in entropy spells, a class that Lhiannon had mastered, but not well. She was tall with wavy auburn hair falling past her shoulders, held back in a thick braid. The woman had an acerbic tongue, but Lhiannon found herself liking Raelyn right away.

Teagan's secretary was also present; a hulking man named Trenton, who favored battle with great axes rather than swords. Trent, as Teagan called him, made Loghain look diminutive, standing several inches taller and broader of stature than the Hero of River Dane. Lhiannon noticed that for his large build, he was as quiet as a Chantry mouse, speaking little but listening intently to the conversation. When he added to the discussion, he was surprisingly soft spoken. Trent and Teagan has been fostered together as young men, developing a deep friendship that endured through the years. Trent leaned up against the wall near Teagan, arms crossed over his expansive chest; Lhiannon suspected that not only was Trent a secretary for Teagan, but also doubled as a bodyguard.

Crispin, the last of Teagan's inner circle, was a slight man, not much larger than Lhiannon herself. Crispin's most distinguishing feature was the mass of curly brown hair that fell past his shoulders, held back by braids at his temples and a cord at the nape of his neck. He fought with a pair of long knives, longer than standard daggers, but shorter than a standard shortsword. When he attacked, his moves were lightning quick and had enough force to knock his opponent off their feet before they could begin to react. His dark eyes moved between those gathered as they spoke, seeking to gather as much information as he could. Lhiannon could see that he was attentive and thoughtful, wanting to process all available information before speaking his mind.

Once Teagan was settled in his chair, Loghain leaned forward from where he sat next to Lhiannon on the small settee, propping his elbows on his knees and folding his hands together in front of them. "We would hear your story, Teagan," he began, looking at the man intently.

Teagan took a long draw from his tankard, sighing as he set it on a small table next to him. He ran his fingers through his hair, gathering his thoughts before he began. "Eamon came to Rainesfere ten days ago with a number of soldiers in the dead of night. His men pounded on the door to my manor, waking the entire household with their racket. When Trent opened the door, the soldiers brushed past him and came toward my rooms, looking for me."

Nathaniel took one look at the stout frame of Trent and scoffed. "They brushed past _you_? You look like you could take up the entire doorway."

Trent sighed, looking at the floor with a frown before turning his gaze on Nathaniel and shrugging. "Hard to argue with soldiers when they have their swords pointed at your chest and throat. Makes your protests fall on deaf ears."

"What happened next, Teagan?" Lhiannon prompted, her gaze moving back from Trent to land on the grave face of Teagan.

"Once the soldiers entered the manor, Eamon was right behind them, dressed in his armor with a sword strapped to his side and his hand on the hilt." Teagan rubbed his face with his hands, sighing heavily as his hands dropped back into his lap. "I had just come from my rooms, half awake and dressed in little more than sleeping pants and a robe. Eamon stood in front of my men and his, stating that he was taking control of Rainesfere and that my title was void due to 'actions detrimental to the arling'. He told me that I had two hours to clear out of my own home. He froze all my assets in the Arling of Redcliffe; I grabbed what sovereigns I had in my manor before we left, dividing it out between the four of us in case we became separated." Teagan then laughed sadly, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "Thrown out of my own home and lands because I sided with you after Isolde's attempt on your life."

"I'm so sorry, Teagan," Lhiannon said, shaking her head slowly before clenching her jaw. "Damn that Eamon. He grows far too bold for his britches."

With a wave of his hand, Teagan continued. "Eamon said he was taking control of my small militia and threatened to charge anyone who sided with me with treason against the Arling of Redcliffe. Most of my militia are family men and were afraid to side with me. I can hardly blame them."

Raelyn turned her attention to Lhiannon and Loghain, her soft voice taking on an edge as she spoke. "I'm sure you know, Commander, that as a mage, I have no family to speak of. My family abandoned me when I was taken to Kinloch Hold. Teagan has been my friend for a long time and I wasn't about to abandon him when he needed help."

Trent nodded his agreement, motioning with his chin toward the slight rogue who sat near Teagan. "Cris and I felt the same way. We were not going to abandon His Lordship."

"What about your families?" Varel asked, looking between the two men. "Are they safe?"

Cris fingered one of the braids that hung from his temple, twirling it about his finger as he regarded Varel. "I only have a sister; I sent her to friends in the Bannorn as we left."

"My family resides in Redcliffe itself," Trent said, his gaze falling once again to the floor. "I tried to get a message to them to be wary of Arl Eamon, but I don't know that they received it. We're not exactly welcome in Redcliffe now. I'm sure we would be apprehended on sight, if not worse."

Teagan took another long draw off his tankard of ale, setting it down on the table as a flash of anger crossed his features. "There is more I would have you know, My Lady. Eamon has…"

Lhiannon pulled a small pillow off the settee behind her, playfully throwing it at Teagan, who deftly batted it away at the last second and looked at Lhiannon in confusion. He had not been the only one, as the others in the room looked at Lhiannon like she had grown horns on her head. "Teagan," she said, pointing a finger at him in mock admonishment, "how many times must I tell you, call me _Lhiannon_. Or Lhi. Anything but "my lady" or any other sort of fanciful title. We're not in court."

Teagan scoffed humorously, a genuine grin crossing his features for the first time in many days. He turned his gaze toward Loghain, a brow raised in questioning. "Is she always this insistent?"

"You have no idea," Loghain snorted, growling in amusement as Lhiannon nudged his ribs with her elbow. Small scoffs and chuckles of laughter rang throughout the room.

With a small laugh, Teagan took another draw off his tankard and continued. "As I was saying, Eamon has been trying to gather support among the banns and freeholders in the Bannorn. He suspects he will have trouble at the next Landsmeet and is trying to drum up support."

"Eamon is nothing if not ambitious," Loghain growled. "What else has he done?"

"He is openly criticizing the Crown and the Grey Wardens for the recent events in Amaranthine," Teagan continued. "He thinks that both have not been vigilant enough against the darkspawn after the fall of the archdemon."

Lhiannon scoffed at Teagan's comment. "As if Eamon even knew the true terror the Architect intended to unleash on Ferelden. I'm sure he does not know the extent of _that._"

A scoff brought Lhiannon's attention to Raelyn, who was shaking her head and looking at Teagan. "Don't forget that he, too, is questioning the Warden Commander's status as Arlessa, being that she is a mage. He is beginning to spout Chantry doctrine like he was the Revered Mother herself."

Teagan quickly stood, reaching into his tunic and pulling a piece of parchment from within. "There is also this disturbing piece of news, Lhiannon. Eamon handed me this letter as he removed me from Rainesfere, saying he knew that I would immediately come here; he said, perhaps, my new profession could be as a courier or errand boy for the Arlessa of Amaranthine, since I am so bound to her will. I did not read it, so I do not know what it states."

Lhiannon traded wary glances with Loghain before reaching out and taking the proffered parchment from Teagan. She turned it over in her hand and saw a simple, unbroken wax seal on it. The paper was a common variety, found in any shop in any settlement. The letter was slightly wrinkled from being obviously carried on Teagan's person. She broke the seal, opened the letter and began to read. As she did so, Loghain noticed her face blanch before red splotches appeared high on her cheeks. He felt her anger growing as she read. When she finished, she silently handed the letter to Loghain. He took the letter from her hand and as soon as he saw the writing, understood Lhiannon's simmering anger.

_Commander,_

_How do you like your new courier? I think this new profession suits him well, since he is your creature. Another cast off for you to adopt._

_I prayed to the Maker for a sign as you imprisoned me for doing the Maker's will and He gave me one. He sent destruction and righteous fury on the Arling of Amaranthine. Magic is to serve and never rule; your people were punished because they did not heed the Maker's words. They should have risen up against you and the Crown and because they did not, the Maker took it upon himself to send the darkspawn to destroy you and free me, His servant. _

_You are an abhorrent creature in the Maker's eyes, as are all mages, especially the mages that took my Connor. It was your mage that poisoned Eamon and allowed Connor to be possessed by the demon. It was your mages that came to Redcliffe to collect Connor and take him from his father and me. Connor didn't deserve to be a mage; he deserved his father's, and Ferelden's, birthright. You have also played a part in Teagan's downfall; he will have to answer for his actions to the Maker._

_I have nothing now. Soon, you will have nothing except an eternity in the Maker's punishment._

_We shall see you soon, mage, and release your soul to wander oblivion._

_I.G._

Reaching out to Varel, Loghain handed the note off with a scowl and watched as Nathaniel leaned over so that he too could read the letter with Varel. Loghain turned toward Lhiannon and saw her staring at the floor ahead of her, her eyes blazing with anger. She had leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and clenching her fists in front of her. The knuckles on her hands had gone white and Loghain could imagine her nails were digging into the flesh of her palms; she seemed to not notice.

Nathaniel snorted as he saw the writing on the note. "At least she gave you more ammunition for the Landsmeet; that was rather generous of her."

"She knew you would come here," Lhiannon said evenly, casting her eyes over to Teagan. "She knew Eamon was going to strip you of your title and penned this note beforehand to give to you so that you could bring it to me."

Teagan sat bolt upright, his eyes widening and jaw dropping open. "What? _She_ wrote the letter? How could she have gotten it to Eamon without you knowing? I can't see the Teyrn letting such a letter past him from her prison cell."

"The prison was damaged in the darkspawn attack on Vigil's Keep," Nathaniel supplied. "We discovered her missing when we were surveying the damages after the darkspawn fled."

Shaking his head, Teagan picked up his tankard and peered within, sighing as he brought the vessel to his lips. "I didn't know; I didn't read the letter. Maker preserve us," he breathed as he drank the last of the ale within.

"Did you not receive any of our missives regarding her escape?" Lhiannon asked, her brows furrowing in confusion at Teagan's revelation. He quickly shook his head, a quizzical look on his own face. "You sent missives? I had not received any communication from Vigil's Keep in some time; since before Isolde's trial, in fact."

"This then confirms what we have suspected since her escape," Loghain growled, his fists opening and clenching as he spoke. "Eamon and Isolde have likely rendezvoused somewhere in western Ferelden. Not only that, it appears he has intercepted our missives sent to Rainesfere."

"Could they have, perhaps, used couriers themselves to confer messages back and forth?" Varel asked as he continued to skim the note. Lhiannon watched her seneschal's features darken as he continued to read. Nathaniel had finished skimming the note and sat with his elbows on his knees, his arms bent so he rested his chin on his thumbs with his fists pressed to his face.

"Perhaps, but I tend to agree with the Teyrn; Eamon and Isolde likely met somewhere," Teagan responded, shifting in his seat slightly to find a more comfortable position. "Where that could be, I know not. Eamon must also have had his own scouts posted near Rainesfere to intercept missives; he likely had someone posing as one of my men. Before our relationship became strained, we often had the same men passing back and forth between Rainesfere and Redcliffe, so it would have not been seen as suspicious if one of Eamon's men 'offered' to take any missives on the final length of the journey to Rainesfere."

"Damn him," Lhiannon sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and grimacing; a headache was blooming behind her eyes just thinking about the conniving Arl. "Our scouts did not report seeing Eamon himself leave Redcliffe," she said, pulling her fingers away from her face. "I suppose it was possible for Isolde to have entered the city on her own."

"And not be reported by the scouts?" Loghain said, his cool gaze moving between Lhiannon and Teagan. "They were told to report anyone fitting her description to me immediately."

"Could she have entered Redcliffe from Lake Calenhad?" Cris asked, his gaze moving between Teagan and the Grey Wardens. "If she used a small boat, she could have made her way in virtually unnoticed."

Trent rubbed his chin in thought, nodding as he did so. "There was no moon in the sky just before My Lord Teagan was deposed. She could have come into the city by boat during the night; there are many places along the lake that are wild and uninhabited where she could have embarked."

"If she stayed off the roads, it's possible she could have made it to Redcliffe. If that were the case, she must have had help; traveling overland by one's self is difficult. She likely had help from guides among allies the whole way," Loghain said, scowling at thought of Isolde crossing overland to reach Lake Calenhad before paddling a small boat into Redcliffe to meet with the Arl clandestinely. Unlikely if she traveled alone, but not impossible if she had help.

Lhiannon snorted derisively. "Or maybe she just rolled herself up in a carpet and had an accomplice row her into Redcliffe?"

"I hardly doubt she would stoop to such indignity," Cris scoffed, taking a drink of his own tankard of ale.

"If she was desperate to meet the Arl, I would not put anything past her," Loghain growled. "Eamon would see to it that she received help all along the way."

* * *

_A couple of notes here. I'm working on the assumption that Teagan would be the heir to Redcliffe had Connor not been born (or taken off to Kinloch Hold), thus I tend to believe Teagan's lands are part of the Arling of Redcliffe. Since Teagan is Eamon's brother and vassal, Eamon could do as he saw fit with Teagan's lands, one way or another. Given that Teagan is heir to Redcliffe again with Connor at the Circle, Eamon isn't going to let that continue for long, given recent history. That's my reasoning anyway._

_As for Isolde and the carpet, many of you will recognize that. A legend told by the Greek historian Plutarch has Queen Cleopatra VII smuggled into Alexandria by one of her servants rolled up in a carpet. She had to get past her brother Ptolemy XIII's guards to meet with Julius Caesar after Ptolemy enraged Caesar by killing his political rival and one time son-in-law Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus (or Pompey the Great). Since Ptolemy had guards all over Alexandria looking to capture Cleopatra, she had to resort to more clever methods to slip into Alexandria and meet Caesar unseen. I love ancient Egyptian history.  
_

_I've finished my first play through of DA2 and have started a second one. Now that my obsession isn't as hardcore, I can get back to writing more frequently._

_Special thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Tyanilth, and Gene Dark. Speaking of Gene, she's done it again...she puts an idea in my head and a one-shot comes forth. The one shot is titled "Embracing the Darkness" and should be posted shortly (if FF can get their type 2 error fixed...I had to use the workaround to post this); if you could read and review, I'd be most appreciative. You're so bad Gene...and by bad I mean oh so good. :) You are too good to me!  
_

_Also thanks to JackOfBladesX for reviewing RA. I smile a lot when I see the reviews for RA still coming.  
_

_Thanks as always to the readers! You make my day!  
_


	8. The Mission

Silence permeated the parlor for several moments as those in attendance gathered their thoughts or reviewed the new revelations. Lhiannon was still smoldering angry with the letter that Isolde penned. She and Eamon _must_ have met somewhere and discussed Eamon's plans for Teagan before she penned the note that eventually ended up in Lhiannon's hands. Eamon's accomplices needed to be discovered, if only so Lhiannon knew who her clandestine rivals in the Landsmeet would be and how she could best counter whatever claims they would have against her. Isolde had been kind enough to pen such a letter—with her initials—so hopefully it would add to the ammunition against her and Eamon, hopefully setting wrongs to rights at the Landsmeet.

"So let us piece together this timeline," Loghain began, pointing a finger in the air for emphasis. "The bard in our custody has admitted to meeting with Isolde in Redcliffe at the time of Jowan's conscription."

"You have a bard in custody?" Teagan asked, his eyes narrowing as a questioning look crossed his face. Lhiannon nodded. "Yes, an Orlesian bard who has also admitted to passing information between Isolde and her employer; she mentioned a man named Clotaire, so we believe he may be her employer or at least someone in the chain. One of the Grey Wardens has contacts in Orlais that may be able to give us more information on this man."

"Let us come back to the point," Loghain said, beginning to tick items off on his fingers. "We know this bard met with Isolde in Redcliffe and passed on information and orders. We can presume that those orders included the failed assassination attempt on the Commander. We can also presume that this bard was given, and passed on, orders to incite sedition both in Gwaren and Amaranthine."

Teagan scoffed lightly. "Well, that explains why Isolde would seemingly disappear for several hours at a time while you were in Redcliffe. So, it was at that time when Isolde made the assassination attempt, was apprehended, and brought here to Vigil's Keep, yes?" Teagan asked, his brows lifting in question.

"That's correct," Lhiannon said. "The Mother's army attacked not long after and in the ensuing chaos, Isolde escaped when the prison was damaged. We had not discovered that until several hours after the fighting ended and we had begun to assess the damages to Vigil's Keep."

"Scouts have been on the roads since then looking for Isolde," Loghain said, his face growing darker as he spoke. "There have been no credible reports as to her whereabouts; I can only assume that she found help among Eamon's allies."

"Forgive me, Commander," Raelyn spoke up, "but weren't _you_ the one who healed the Arl of his poisoning? I would think the Arlessa would have been grateful, not vengeful." She quickly looked to Loghain, whose face had grown hard and dark as he glared at the mage; poisoning Eamon was not one of his finer moments, but at the time, it had seemed necessary. "No offense, Your Grace," she quickly added when she saw Loghain's dark look, a bit of red staining her cheeks as she averted her eyes.

Lhiannon felt the irritation brewing within Loghain and put a calming hand on his, turning her gaze toward him in an attempt to douse the fire she saw growing in his icy blue eyes. After a moment, Loghain scoffed quietly, settling back onto the settee and resting his arm on the back behind Lhiannon. "That was indeed not one of my best moments," Loghain began, running a hand over his face, his voice slightly weary as he turned his gaze toward Teagan across the room. Teagan's eyes were on the floor, an uncomfortable expression on his face and the tension between them almost palpable. He and Loghain had not directly spoken about what happened to Eamon; each knew of the other's thoughts on the affair from the stories told by second parties, most of it through Lhiannon herself. Both men found themselves slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of a direct confrontation on the matter after all this time, especially with others in attendance. Loghain scoffed to himself; his actions were known throughout Ferelden so at this point, what more harm could be done? If anything, perhaps he could give Teagan the truth from his own lips, as stories had a way of growing and becoming embellished the more they were told. He leveled his gaze at Teagan. "I would tell of my reasoning, Teagan, if you consent. It is an uncomfortable subject. I do not wish to trouble you further with this affair if you do not wish it."

There was a pause from Teagan, the tension in the room steadily growing as he considered Loghain's words. Raelyn fidgeted slightly in her chair; Cris fingered the lock pick he pulled from his belt, twirling it deftly between his fingers. Lhiannon smoothed her tunic over her lap as Nathaniel massaged the palms of his hands with his thumbs. After several moments, Teagan sighed and waved his hand in the air, his wrist flicking as if to brush away a troublesome insect. "What's done is done," Teagan began, lifting his gaze to meet Loghain's. Lhiannon saw the firm resolve in Teagan's eyes. "It is history now and cannot be changed. Tell the story, if you wish."

Loghain brought a hand up to his face, running it wearily over his features for a moment before he began his tale. Lhiannon brushed his leg with her hand, offering her quiet support. With a sigh, Loghain began his tale.

"We all know what happened at Ostagar, so I won't bore you with the details there. It was almost immediately after Ostagar that I had received word from one of my men in Redcliffe that Connor may be showing magical talent and that Isolde had hired a private tutor to show him how to hide his rumored abilities. My man had also told me that he had sat in a meeting with Eamon's advisors where Eamon had mentioned putting Connor forth as heir to the throne; Connor was a blood relative of King Cailan and therefore had a closer tie to it than the Queen herself, who was only tied to it through marriage." Loghain paused, his eyes growing dark once again, his voice lowering and taking on a slightly darker tone. It would be a long, long time before thinking of Eamon's treachery did not cause the dark fury to rise within him. "Eamon wanted to force Anora off the throne; he knew that he and Isolde could not put themselves forward, though Eamon had a close blood tie to the throne through Queen Rowan; many Fereldens would vehemently object to an Orlesian queen. However, they could put Connor forth and act as his regents until he became of age to rule on his own. He was to exploit the blood relationship between Connor and Cailan. Alistair, Eamon knew, wanted nothing to do with the throne, and besides that fact, was already a Grey Warden and was highly unlikely to give up that life to be King. It had been drilled into Alistair his entire life to put any thoughts of nobility or the Crown out of his head.

"Connor's abilities put a kink in their plans. Isolde did not want to lose Connor to the Circle, but I also believe she wanted to have the power and glory of being a regent. She hired Jowan to tutor Connor so that he could hide his abilities from everyone, including Eamon. I instructed my man to incapacitate Eamon until Queen Anora's position could be solidified." Loghain paused for a moment, turning his gaze to Teagan. Teagan stared intently at the floor once again, his face an unreadable mask as Loghain told his story.

"Teagan," Loghain quietly spoke, his voice low and serious in the silence of the room. Teagan's eyes shifted up at the sound of his name, glaring at the Teyrn with the pain and anger that had been bottled up inside him for all these months now. Though the relationship between the two brothers was likely irreparably strained, Eamon was still his brother and a part of Teagan ached at hearing about the deeds Loghain had done. Rowan would have been saddened and angered to see what became of the relationships between the three men.

"Teagan, regardless of the stories you have undoubtedly heard, I _did not_ want Eamon dead," Loghain stated evenly and emphatically.

A hush fell on the room as Teagan considered Loghain's words. He sat still as a statue for several moments, processing the information he heard from Loghain. With a curt nod and a wave of his hand a few moments later, Teagan bade Loghain to continue with his story. "Jowan was instructed to incapacitate the Arl while he was in Redcliffe tutoring Connor," Loghain continued. "Once the issue of the throne was settled, Jowan was to be instructed to confer the antidote." Loghain scoffed lightly, jerking a thumb to Lhiannon sitting beside him. "The Commander here beat me to it by finding Andraste's sacred ashes."

"I still don't understand," Raelyn said, shaking her head slowly and a confused look on her face. "Why would the Arlessa hate her if she saved the Arl? And Connor, for that matter?"

Teagan responded before Loghain could. "Because not only did Lhiannon spare Loghain's life at the Landsmeet, she convinced King Alistair to take his place in Denerim by marrying Queen Anora and solidifying her position rather than have her forced out. She also helped ensure Alistair was not the malleable boy Eamon thought he may be," Teagan said, turning his head toward Raelyn as he explained. "She supported Loghain after the Landsmeet rather than see him executed. She conscripted Jowan into the Grey Wardens rather than see him executed. And it was mages who came to Redcliffe to take Connor to Kinloch Hold, denying him his inheritance and future title." Teagan laughed; a grim, humorless laugh that made Lhiannon's heart go out to him. "I heard Isolde rant about Lhiannon on a couple of occasions right after the coronation and court in Denerim; Isolde hated her."

Teagan rose and refilled his tankard of ale from a nearby pitcher, taking a deep draw before settling back into his seat and studying the contents of his tankard intently. Those in the room watched him warily, unsure of his reaction to Loghain's story. Teagan sighed once again, turning his attention to Lhiannon and Loghain seated across from him. Dwelling on the past and what happened served no purpose; Loghain was not the same man he was immediately after Cailan's death. He was more like the man Teagan had know for years before the turmoil of the Blight. Teagan was grateful to have heard the truth at long last, from Loghain's very own lips, as painful as hearing such a story was. It was time to move on. "So, tell me of what happened when the darkspawn attacked your lands," he said, closing the subject as one may close a book and replace it on a shelf.

With a sigh, Lhiannon began to speak of the attacks on both Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine, with Loghain, Varel, and Nathaniel interjecting as needed. As she spoke, she watched as the faces of Teagan and his companions blanched.

"I visited family in Amaranthine as a child," Cris said as Lhiannon finished her story, shaking his head slowly and sadly as his gaze lingered on the floor. "I loved going to the docks and seeing the boats sail in. We would try to guess the ancestry of the ships based on the colorful heralds on the sails."

"The docks, thankfully, were not heavily damaged," Lhiannon told him, shifting in her seat to bring her legs up onto the settee next to her; the movement caused her to press closer to Loghain, who draped an arm over the back of the settee as she rested close to him. "The docks have been a godsend for us; many of the relief supplies came to Amaranthine via ship."

Teagan cast a glance at each of his companions, taking in their melancholy features at the story Lhiannon told. "I can't speak for my companions, Lhiannon, but I would be pleased to help in any way I can. I do not have much in the way of funds, as Eamon has frozen most of my assets, but I would like to help however I can."

Lhiannon saw as Raelyn, Cris, and Trent all nodded emphatically, agreeing to help Teagan and Vigil's Keep however they could. Lhiannon nodded gratefully, happy to accept whatever help they could provide.

"The least I can do for you then, Teagan, is offer you and your companions a guest house here within the walls of Vigil's Keep. It's a bit crowded with those from Amaranthine here, but we'll make it work," Lhiannon said. "You are more than welcome to stay here until matters with Eamon are settled at the Landsmeet. Hopefully after the Landsmeet, this will be nothing but a bad memory for you."

Nathaniel's gazed flicked between Lhiannon, Loghain, and Teagan. "Do you think it truly will take that long to settle matters? Can't the King be petitioned to intervene now?"

"He could," Loghain said, his strong fingers absentmindedly stroking Lhiannon's shoulder from where his hand rested on the back of the settee. "However, it is a matter best left for the Landsmeet, where his actions can be brought before his peers."

"The Crown risks alienating his supporters if they act unilaterally now," Varel explained, earning a knowing nod from both Teagan and Loghain. Both men were well familiar with the intricacies and political maneuverings of the Landsmeet; any decisions made amongst the group would be more binding and hopefully more readily accepted among the fickle nobles if those decisions were made _as_ a group. The Landsmeet would give those opposed to Eamon's recent actions a forum before the nobility in Ferelden, where the evidence could be presented and debated. The downside was that Eamon's supporters would also have a forum there.

Teagan nodded his agreement. "You are quite right, Varel. Pronouncements made during the Landsmeet are often more agreeable and binding than decrees from the Crown, especially to those living in the Bannorn. They have always been a fickle bunch and I do not see that changing in my lifetime. Eamon has a number of supporters in western Ferelden who will need to be swayed with strong evidence of his misdeeds." Teagan paused, considering for a moment, his index finger resting on his lips briefly before he pulled it away and pointed toward Lhiannon. "If we have strong evidence of Eamon's ulterior motives, many of those supporters can be swayed to our cause. They are not unreasonable men and women, for the most part."

"We may also have other problems than just Eamon and Isolde," Loghain said, watching as Teagan's gaze once again fell to him and grew troubled.

"You don't have enough to worry about?" Teagan asked with grim humor, a wry grin crossing his features. Dry chuckles could be heard from the others in the room, including Lhiannon herself.

"Obviously not. Is there ever enough to worry about?" Lhiannon grinned in return.

Loghain scoffed, a sarcastic snort that Lhiannon found herself grinning at. "Evidentially, the Revered Mother in Amaranthine thinks the darkspawn were sent to attack the arling because a mage is Arlessa. She and the Grand Cleric have traveled to Val Royeaux to meet with the Divine."

Sitting bolt upright in her chair, Raelyn's gaze fell on Lhiannon and a disgusted sneer crossed her face. "Oh, really, Commander? They pulled the old 'magic must serve and never rule' bullshit out and threw it at you? After everything you did for Ferelden?"

Faces turned to regard Raelyn and her colorful metaphor. Loghain, Teagan, and Varel all raised eyebrows at the mage, silently questioning her choice of words among those in the room. Lhiannon's gaze fell upon the men before she giggled at the mage, whose expression was now nonplussed. "I apologize, Commander," Raelyn quickly stammered, "sometimes the filter between my mind and my mouth ceases to exist."

"Oh Raelyn, it's fine," Lhiannon giggled, bringing her hand up to her face to snicker into it. "Yes, they did pull that old line out on me. I completely understand your feelings; believe me, I have asked myself that question on numerous occasions since I heard the Revered Mother's pronouncement."

Raelyn gestured emphatically with her hands, her embarrassment subsiding to be replaced by indignation. "I just don't understand how two-faced the Chantry can be. They praised you and the Grey Wardens for defeating the archdemon and saving Andraste's birthplace, along with all the Maker's children in Ferelden. Then because you are named an Arlessa they suddenly decide that the Maker became angry and sent the darkspawn back to punish you and your people? It makes absolutely _no sense_ to me!"

"Why would the Maker send the darkspawn against anyone?" Trent asked, his soft spoken voice commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "If the Maker cast the magisters out of the Golden City and transformed them into the first darkspawn, why then would he command them at all?"

"That is a question that has been debated for some time here at Vigil's Keep," Varel agreed, rubbing his chin in thought. "One of the Grey Wardens was a lay sister in a Chantry for a time. Even she could not explain the reasoning other than 'the Chantry simply believes it must be'."

"Ridiculous," Loghain scoffed, his fingers moving from Lhiannon's shoulder to stroke along the skin of her neck; she felt gooseflesh break out at his touch as his calloused fingers gently and lightly brushed her skin. She also felt heat building within her at his touch. If Loghain kept it up, she would have to make any sort of excuse for them to leave for their chambers so her building heat could be properly addressed. "The rantings of narrow minded fools," he growled as his fingers continued to lightly skirt her skin, moving below the collar of her tunic to gently touch the skin there.

"Foolish it may be, Your Grace," Teagan began, looking Loghain in the eye before his gaze turned to Lhiannon, "but the voice of the Chantry carries much weight. While there are those who are not particularly swayed by such doctrine, others take the Chantry's words literally."

"Caution is advised," Cris muttered from his chair. "Zealots can be extremely dangerous with the proper motivation."

* * *

Under the shade of a large evergreen tree near the tavern, a young man sat, fingering a set of prayer beads as his lips moved ever so slightly in prayer. The overhanging branches provided the shade he had been looking for while he was contemplating, praying…watching; a shadow amongst shadows. He was an average man who could be from any town in Ferelden, wearing simple leather armor and braids in the current Ferelden fashion. In a small pouch attached to his belt he carried a small traveler's version of the Chant of Light. In a scabbard near his hip he carried a wicked long dagger, Andraste's flame etched on the blade and a small jewel with the Chantry's emblem set in the end of the handle. He had been told that the Divine herself specially blessed the blade.

He had traveled from western Ferelden to Vigil's Keep at the behest of Sister Margaux, a dark haired sister who occasionally visited his village from the Grand Cathedral in the holy city of Val Royeaux. When Sister Margaux visited, all of the faithful in the village rushed to meet her; when she came, it was to choose one of the residents to return to the Grand Cathedral in a quest to further the Maker's work. Generally, that meant training with the templars there—the very best in Thedas—for missions to hunt the most dangerous of apostates and maleficars. A number of those taken by Sister Margaux became templars, steadfastly dedicated to their Maker given duties. Others had made the ultimate sacrifice, giving their lives while hunting mages.

When Sister Margaux came this last time only two short weeks ago, she was accompanied by a woman of middle age, looking thin and harried as if she had not slept well in some time; the woman spoke with the same accent as Sister Margaux and called the land of the Chantry, Orlais, home. Sister Margaux introduced her as Gabrielle, who told a incredible and appalling tale of a mage ruling not only a small landholding but an entire arling itself in eastern Ferelden. Blasphemous! His village cared little for the goings on of the outside world, but a mage ruling over an entire arling was worthy of their notice. Mages were not only affronts to the Maker, but were to serve and never rule. That a mage ruled over others was deeply disturbing and offensive to those in the village. Gabrielle said she had been held captive by the blasphemous mage; the mage obviously feared the faithful Gabrielle and her devotion to the Maker.

Sister Margaux had told the villagers that a mission to oust the mage had to be conducted with the utmost secrecy and discretion. Sister Margaux said this mage was perhaps one of the most dangerous to ever walk the face of Thedas; secrecy was needed because this mage controlled her subjects with blood magic and if she knew the Maker's special warriors were coming for her, she would gather an army of possessed souls around her for protection, using their very blood and souls to fuel her terrible magic.

He had been in the Chantry, perusing the accounts of the Exalted March against the elves when Sister Margaux had quietly appeared at his side. She saw what he was reading and asked if he was prepared to take on a dangerous mission for the glory of the Maker, a mission that was to ensure him a place at the Maker's side in the beyond. Of course, he agreed and by the end of that day, was on a boat along the shores of Lake Calenhad with Sister Margaux, sailing north toward the Waking Sea. Gabrielle had opted to stay in the village for a few more days before she resumed her pilgrimage to the Grand Cathedral and home in Orlais. As they sailed, Sister Margaux helped him hone his fighting skills; the young man was surprised to see the Sister fight with such tenacity and skill, her dual weapons flashing and her backstabs deadly accurate. Sister Margaux said she had learned the fighting arts so that she could protect the Maker's children from those who threatened them.

It was almost too easy, blending in with the swelling population of Vigil's Keep. Since the attack on and burning of Amaranthine, many of the survivors had traveled the relatively short distance to Vigil's Keep to await word of the all clear. Sister Margaux had told him that his job of discretion would be made easier with all the extra people within the compound; the blasphemous mage could not possibly know everyone there. The Sister had given him a map of Amaranthine as they sailed across the Waking Sea, telling him the way to Vigil's Keep was via the Pilgrim's Path; an appropriate name, he thought. He would make his way south to the fortress and from there, watch and wait. He was to use his discretion and wait for the right time to confront the mage. When they arrived in the port at Amaranthine, he disembarked, heading off into the city to stop and pray at the local chantry before purchasing supplies and heading south towards the Pilgrim's Path and Vigil's Keep. He turned and looked toward the boat one last time, observing Sister Margaux as she stopped to speak with the captain after she disembarked the ship, hefting a small pack onto her shoulder.

After completing his prayers and errands in Amaranthine, he traveled south along the Pilgrim's Path to the fortress of Vigil's Keep, praying and singing the Maker's praises as he journeyed. He imagined a new world sprouting forth from the successful completion of his task; he would be the harbinger of a new era, an era that finally saw the faithful rise up against the mages and put an end to their blasphemous existence. The time passed almost in the blink of an eye as he prayed, sang, and contemplated his mission and before he knew it, the fortress of Vigil's Keep lay just ahead. He entered the grounds, where he watched and waited for a number of days, blending in with the refugees as he observed the people moving in and out of the main building within the fortress. No one had matched the description of the blasphemous mage.

Until now.

_Maker, grant me the strength to complete Your holy task and assure me a place at Your side with Your divine Bride and prophet, Andraste, she who was sent to You by the holy flame._

He was Elis Barne of Greenwood Vale and he would bring glory to the Maker and his Bride this day.

* * *

_A couple of notes for this chapter. One of the meanings of the name Gabrielle is "warrior of God." Fitting, wouldn't you say? ;)_

_My Eamon/Isolde/Connor conspiracy theory is finally drug out into the light of day. I believe this was Eamon's "Plan B"; the first one was to get Anora off the throne by having Cailan marry Celene. Eamon is also shrewd enough that once he heard of Cailan marching to Ostagar with the armies, he thought about what would happen should the worst case scenario present himself, which it did in Cailan's death. Isolde knew this and when Connor's abilities began to manifest, she tried to hide it so that their plan could come to fruition. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it!  
_

_Musical inspiration for the last part of the chapter, and the chapter's title, comes from the song "The Mission" by Queensryche from their "Operation: Mindcrime" album. If you like hard rock and an album that tells a story from beginning to end (a concept album), "Operation: Mindcrime" is one of the very best. Remember, Greenwood Vale is the village from "The Releasing."  
_

_I'm STILL trying to post "Embracing the Darkness" to FF...not having much luck. I don't want to post it to another fandom and try moving it because, trust me, with my luck that will cause the whole site to go down in flames. I thought once that I was going to get lucky and get it to post (because I actually got to the screen where you input the title and such), but the site was just a horrible tease, dumping me into the "Type 2" error screen. Grrr... If you really, really, REALLY can't wait, PM me and I'll see what I can do to get it to you. I'm trying, Gene, really! I REALLY want you to see it! ;)_

_As always, special thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Forestnymphe, Gene Dark, Dante Alighieri, Arsinoe de Blassenville, sleepyowlet, Tyanilth. Thanks also to JackofBladesX for reviewing RA. __You all put huge smiles on my face!_

_Thanks to you readers and lurkers too...I know you're out there and I appreciate you spending a few minutes on my tale.  
_


	9. Transfigurations 1:2

Varel left with Teagan and his companions to gather their belongings before he and Lhiannon were to show them to the guesthouse. Lhiannon was finally glad that the others had left the parlor when they did; Loghain's caresses to her neck had built a scorching heat inside her and toward the end of their meeting, she could feel the heat spreading from her core throughout her body. She felt her cheeks begin to flush and willed herself to keep her composure in front of their guests. Of course, Loghain had sensed her growing arousal and kept his fingers moving along her skin with sinuous grace, allowing his smug satisfaction to flow between them. _Insolent man_, she thought, grinning to herself.

When the last of the meeting's attendants had left the parlor and moved a safe distance down the hall, Loghain quietly closed the door before grabbing Lhiannon's hands, twisting his fingers within hers and firmly pushing her up against it. He leaned his greater bulk into her, pinning her hands and body to the door as his mouth relentlessly and thoroughly ravished hers. His tongue was hot and demanding, pushing her lips apart the moment he settled his weight against her. She moaned into his mouth and struggled against him, seeking to run her hands all over his body. He pressed himself harder against her in response, pinning her even more completely to the door and she groaned in both pleasure and pain. His bent leg rested near her center and she took full advantage of it, grinding herself against it until her breaths came shorter and faster. His mouth ran along the curve of her jaw to her ear, his tongue flicking along the outer shell and causing her to sigh loudly in her desire. Her breathing quickened as Loghain released one of her hands, running it down her body and finding the laces to her trousers. He loosened them with his hand as his mouth moved back over hers, his tongue and teeth playing along her lips, sucking and nipping the tender flesh. He loosened her trousers enough to snake a hand down the front, working his way past her smalls to her hot, wet center.

Lhiannon moaned into his mouth as he slipped two fingers inside her, his thumb brushing her nub as he began to move his fingers. As his hand continued its ministrations, she moved her free hand down to the front of his trousers, the positioning awkward with his arm between them. She found his obvious arousal, moving her fingers over the fabric encasing his erection. Loghain groaned into her mouth as he continued to ravish her, his breath coming in quicker bursts to match her own. Small moans of pleasure were breathed into his mouth as she pressed her core against his hand, grinding her nub against his thumb as he worked. Loghain released her other hand, allowing her to quickly move it to the front of his trousers and inside, one hand cradling his arousal as the other hand went to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. She massaged his arousal with her hand, her movements quickly matching the rhythm his fingers made inside her. They rubbed and fondled one another, their pace quick and urgent as both raced toward release. Hips ground and bucked against each other, breathless moans swallowed by deep, fevered kisses.

Lhiannon reached her peak first, her climax coming in breathless gasps as her walls clenched around Loghain's fingers. Her body twitched against his as she breathed his name into his mouth, her legs nearly buckling as the release washed over her. At the breathless sound of his name, Loghain removed his hand, pushing her smalls and trousers down before quickly brushing her hand away and releasing his erection. He lifted one of her bare legs up across his hip, pushing himself into her as he pressed her body up against the door. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, her trousers and smalls dangling from her foot as she hooked them around Loghain's waist. He began to thrust, pinning her to the door with his weight, his hands clutching at her bottom, squeezing her flesh. Her lips sought the skin of his neck, her tongue and teeth trailing on his skin as she gently nipped his flesh. The sensation drove Loghain over the edge in a torrent. He growled her name into her ear as his seed spilled inside her, his chest heaving against hers in his exertion. As his spasms faded, he moved to pull away from the door, wrapping his arms around her to support her weight. She unhooked her legs, lowering herself to the floor and off his length. She reached down, pulling her smalls and trousers back into place. With a grin, she looked up into his icy blue eyes, smiling warmly at him as he set his trousers to rights. "Not a bad way to end a meeting."

"I thought not," he smirked, brushing her cheek with his hand and kissing her tenderly. "However, we should see to business with Teagan and his companions; no doubt they have wondered where we have disappeared to."

* * *

Lhiannon and Varel led Teagan and his companions through the halls of the Vigil and outside as Loghain returned to his office, bidding them farewell for now. As they walked through the courtyard of the Vigil, Lhiannon waved to several of the merchants who were selling their wares in various storefronts, pointing them out to Teagan and his companions for when they would need their services. Lillian, who specialized in household goods, waved from the window of her storefront as she placed a newly made dress on display. Lhiannon grinned as she looked at the ostentatious sign hanging above the door to the new business next to Lillian's; acquaintances from Denerim, Wade and Herren, had recently moved to Vigil's Keep to help the smithy here outfit the solders and Grey Wardens. As eccentric—and sometimes trying—as the two proprietors were, Lhiannon was glad to have their skill in Amaranthine. She had learned in a missive from Denerim that King Alistair had paid Herren a large sum of money to relocate to Amaranthine and outfit the Grey Wardens. Alistair had said in his letter that he 'wanted the best' in Amaranthine for the Grey Wardens. Though Wade was dismayed, both at the damp climate and what he felt was a dreary fortress, he soon found solace in his work when Lhiannon presented him with a number of dragon scales taken from the high dragon they recently defeated in the Dragonbone Wastes. It sent Wade into near fits of ecstasy as he turned toward his workstation, muttering to himself gleefully as Herren simply rolled his eyes and asked Lhiannon to "please leave" in his usual snarky manner.

The guesthouse Lhiannon and Varel showed to their guests was not far from the main steps leading up to the Vigil. It was a modest house with three small bedrooms, meaning one bedroom would have to be shared, but Teagan and the others were both pleased and grateful for the accommodations. The bedrooms were on the second floor; two of which overlooked the steps to the Vigil while the other overlooked nearby houses. The tavern and a small grocer were only steps away, making the house one of the more conveniently located ones with in the walls of the compound. What belongings Teagan and his companions could grab in their haste to leave Rainesfere were already waiting for them as they arrived at the house. Lhiannon and Varel helped the others carry their belongings inside and set them in the parlor, where new homes could be found for them.

As Lhiannon carried a small box of herbal sundries into the home, Raelyn was quickly at her side, a bag in her hand containing what robes she could grab in her haste to flee with Teagan, Cris, and Trent.

"Commander, could I have a word with you?" Raelyn asked as Lhiannon walked through the halls of the home to Raelyn's bedroom.

"Of course," Lhiannon called out over her shoulder as she pushed the door to the bedroom open with her foot. She moved to a small vanity near the bed and placed the box on top, turning and opening the doors to a nearby armoire and handing Raelyn a hanger for one of her robes.

"I understand you have learned how to wield a sword as well as any warrior while you cast," Raelyn began, shaking out one of her robes; it was dark red velvet with gold piping. Lhiannon saw that it was well made and most likely for formal occasions.

Lhiannon grinned and chuckled lightly. "I don't know if I'd go so far as to say I'm as good as any warrior, but yes, I can wield a sword and cast. It's an ancient, arcane ability."

"Ah," Raelyn nodded, her interest evident in her voice as she placed the robe into the armoire. Lhiannon shook out another robe and readied it for a hanger. "An arcane warrior then? I read about that in my studies at Kinloch Hold some time ago. I thought the art was lost."

"I had never heard of it before," Lhiannon began, holding the robe out for Raelyn, who threaded the hanger inside and settled the robe onto it, "I found an ancient phylactery in some ruins in the Brecilian Forest. There was a trapped entity inside that offered to impart its knowledge in exchange for its freedom."

Raelyn nodded, seemingly in approval as she turned to face Lhiannon, her arms wrapped around herself. "I'm glad you released the entity. I always wondered what became of our phylacteries after mages died. To think a part of our consciousness could be trapped inside for eternity…"

Lhiannon shivered; that same thought had ran through her head when she found the phylactery and every time she thought of it afterward. "I hope we never have to experience what that entity did. I would hate to think a part of our consciousness would remain behind, bound to the phylactery until it was destroyed."

"Commander, could you teach me the arcane warrior skills?"

Lhiannon grinned, a lopsided smile that had Raelyn momentarily confused. "You know, the Chantry likely won't be happy with this. It's bad enough that one mage knows how to wield a sword; what would happen with two?"

Raelyn snorted derisively. "Screw the Chantry."

Lhiannon laughed out loud and Raelyn joined her an instant later. "Why do you want to learn those skills, if I may ask?" Lhiannon said once her giggles subsided.

With a shrug, Raelyn closed the closet door, turning to regard Lhiannon with a serious expression on her face. "I want to know how to defend myself; not just in battle, but myself as a person. I just _know_ that, one day, the templars are going to come after me for one reason or another…"

"Don't you think that's a little paranoid?"

The auburn haired mage snorted, a bitter sound that ran contrary to her overall personality. "I'm not one of the darlings of the Circle, Commander. My mouth has caused me to step on one too many sets of toes. One day, the Circle's patience—or more accurately, the templars'—will run out and they will hunt me." Raelyn grinned, a malicious smirk that matched the twinkle in her eyes. "I want to give them a fight."

Lhiannon crossed her arms over her chest, regarding the mage thoughtfully for a moment. She understood completely where Raelyn was coming from, especially with the clandestine conspirators continuing to follow her and cause trouble. More than once, her arcane abilities saved not only herself, but her fellow Wardens and companions as well. The entity in the phylactery wanted to share that knowledge before being released into the beyond. It was only right, and fitting, to pass that knowledge on, especially if mages were expected to go into battle. It would be an advantage to anyone seeking the help of a mage; it would also help the mage protect themselves from an unjust pursuit from overzealous templars. The Chantry would not like it, Lhiannon knew, but since when did she toe the Chantry line?

With a nod, Lhiannon agreed. "Come meet me in my office tomorrow morning, Raelyn. I can show you how to channel your magic into strength and the basics of swordcraft; I'm sure Loghain would also be happy to train you as well when you are ready."

With a wide grin on her face, Raelyn nodded her thanks to Lhiannon. "Very well then, Commander. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

Varel was waiting at the door when Lhiannon came down the stairs, ready to return to the Vigil and the duties that were no doubt waiting for her there. They walked out into the bright, chilly air, speaking in light tones as they trekked back to Vigil's Keep. They were halfway back to the main steps of the Vigil when Lhiannon heard someone call out to her from behind.

"My Lady! You dropped something!"

Lhiannon turned her head, looking back to see a younger looking man approach her with his hand outstretched. She furrowed her brows; she had not dropped anything to her knowledge. With a speed almost too quick to follow, the man leaped at Lhiannon, grabbing one of her arms and twisting it up behind her back, clasping a small metal manacle over her wrist as he pressed the blade of a wicked looking dagger to her throat. Lhiannon gasped in surprise and pain, causing Varel to quickly spin about and see Lhiannon struggling with a much taller—and crazed—looking man.

Lhiannon felt the man grab her other hand, quickly securing it to the other manacle on her wrist. With her hands bound, she would be unable to cast. At the angle he had her wrists bound, she was unable to straighten her arms and was already feeling the strain in her shoulders and limbs. It was extremely difficult to keep her balance with the man constantly moving behind her, his agitated gestures pulling on her already stressed limbs. The man's dagger pressed into the skin of her throat, a shallow cut in the skin causing a small drop of blood to emerge, hot against her chilled skin. Her eyes went wide as Varel had spun about, gaping at the scene behind him in shock before he quickly regained his composure.

"Son, you don't want to do that," Varel said calmly, holding a hand out to the man in a gesture of peace. His mind raced; what could he do to get the Commander away from the man? Could he do it in time?

"Be silent, enabler, or I shall slit this abomination's throat right here," the man snarled, pulling Lhiannon closer to him. He lowered his lips to her ear. "Say it with me, mage: _Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him_."

Lhiannon's eyes cast about, her alarm growing with each passing second, with each word that passed her assailant's lips. Varel was trying to soothe the crazed man with a calm voice; she knew that if Varel left to find help, she was likely done for. She tried to slow her panicked breathing when the man pressed the blade more firmly into her throat, opening a greater wound in her flesh. "_Say it_," he hissed at her.

"_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him_," Lhiannon repeated, willing her voice to stay strong and not betray her absolute fear. The man resumed his chant. "_Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against his children_. Foul mage; lording over others using their blood and souls."

_What in the Maker's name is he talking about? This can't be..._

"The Commander has never ruled with blood magic," Varel said calmly, hoping to calm the increasingly volatile man holding Lhiannon hostage. "She doesn't believe in the use of blood magic."

The dagger moved against Lhiannon's throat, opening a new wound just above the first one and causing her to hiss in pain. Blood continued to trickle down her neck to stain her longshirt and run down the skin of her chest, the rivulets hot as they rolled down her cool flesh. "Say the passage, mage."

Lhiannon took a shallow breath; all she could think about now was Loghain. What would happen to him if this man killed her right in front of the Vigil, her blood seeping into the dirt beneath her? Would she never marry him and find an even greater happiness with him at her side? What would happen to Varel, him having witnessed her murder? She knew her chances of survival were not good, but if she could just do what this madman wanted, perhaps it would buy her, and her companions, time. "_Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against his children."_ Lhiannon tried to channel her fear through the taint, hoping one of the Wardens would sense something amiss before the madman's dagger slipped and ended it all.

* * *

Cris was in his room in the guesthouse overlooking the area between the house and the main steps of the Vigil. He was unpacking what clothes he had quickly gathered on their escape from Rainesfere when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and happened to glance out the window. A man was holding a weapon to the Warden Commander's throat, her seneschal trying to calm the situation with an outstretched hand and slow, purposeful movements. "Lord Teagan!" Cris shouted, snatching his bow and quiver as he ran from his room and toward the stairs leading to the ground floor. His footsteps pounded down the stairs as he took them two at a time and he heard an alarmed shout coming from the parlor of the house. Teagan was there, sorting through some of his belongings when Cris landed with a loud thump at the bottom of the stairs and bolted for the door.

"Cris, what is it?" Teagan asked, confusion and alarm both dawning on his face.

"Someone is holding the Warden Commander hostage," Cris said, his hand preparing to pull on the door. "I will go to the Vigil and find any of the Grey Wardens. Stay behind the man; see if you can help Seneschal Varel talk him down. If you can safely subdue him, do so."

Cris quickly, but silently, raced through the door, running behind the house to the shadows behind it. He quietly ran along the alleyway behind the buildings, his footsteps nearly silent, hoping to keep out of sight for as long as possible. The Grey Wardens needed to be warned and help summoned.

* * *

Loghain had been in his office looking over a new requisition form that needed to be sent to Wade at his new shop. The man, as talented as he was in working new armor, was a prickly bastard. Loghain needed several sets of silverite armor made and the thought of speaking to Wade made his skin crawl. Loghain knew that as soon as he mentioned silverite as the material he wanted, the man would moan and whine about the mundane nature of such a request and how his talents were wasted in this backwater piece of Ferelden. Feeling his already thin patience with Wade becoming even thinner, Loghain picked up the requisition and moved through the Vigil toward the main doors.

As he drew closer to the main doors, his brows furrowed at a strange sensation in the taint. It was not darkspawn; it did not have the incessant pull on his blood that the darkspawn caused. This felt like raw fear. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand as Loghain drew closer to the door, the nagging sense becoming stronger with every step. He had just opened the door to exit when he saw Teagan's companion Cris bound up the steps, taking two at a time and out of breath, his eyes wide.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Loghain demanded as Cris burst into the hall of the Vigil, nearly knocking Loghain off his feet in haste. Loghain's bulk slammed into the door, causing it to bang up against the wall, the loud sound echoing through the entryway. Cris turned his attention to Loghain, his eyes settling on him and going wide in recognition.

"Warden! The Warden Commander is in trouble. A man…"

Loghain roughly shoved Cris aside with an inarticulate growl, rushing out the door and down the steps as he opened himself fully to the taint. As soon as he opened himself, he felt Lhiannon's fear roaring through it; Loghain's stomach lurched as looked about and saw a man holding a long dagger to Lhiannon's throat. He could see the streaks of red blood flowing down her pale skin to stain the collar of her shirt. They stood between Varel, who was calmly talking to the man, and Teagan, who was quietly moving in from behind. Loghain turned to where Cris now stood beside him; a bow and quiver of arrows were firmly strapped to the man's back.

"Your bow. Now," Loghain growled, holding his hand out. Cris shrugged the bow and quiver off his back without question, handing both to Loghain. Once they were firmly in hand, Loghain began to move along the alleyway Cris had just traversed, looking to flank the man holding Lhiannon captive so that he could get a clean shot in from the man's blind side. Loghain felt the raw rage well up inside him as he moved, Cris following silently behind; he wanted this man alive if at all possible. He wanted to question the man to determine just why he committed this act. As Loghain moved, he heard Lhiannon cry out in pain and hiss loudly.

He hoped that afterward he would have the strength to not kill the man himself.

* * *

Lhiannon felt rage roaring through the taint. Even in her panicked and frightened state, she knew just who could be the only one feeding that much rage into it. The man behind her twisted her arms painfully, the screaming in her limbs causing her to cry out in pain. The man continued to hold her arms painfully as he pressed the dagger into her neck.

"Magic is a curse," the man snarled into her ear. "The evil of mages and their magic is what caused the Maker's Golden City to turn black. They caused Him to turn away from His faithful. You are a curse to all who seek the Maker's return. He shall never return while mages still live."

Lhiannon's mind quickly settled on a different verse from the Chant of Light; perhaps she could get through to him if she spoke in verse, similar to how a Chanter would. She had to try _something._ "_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just,"_ Lhiannon said through gritted teeth; the pain in her arms was white hot and began to spread through her chest and back. "I have helped Ferelden and its people. I killed the archdemon, one of the corrupted Old Gods! How is that evil?"

"Enough!" the man snarled, jerking Lhiannon's arms even harder. Lhiannon heard a pop in her shoulder and felt something tearing inside. Tears of fear and pain began to roll down her face. She looked at Varel, unable to keep the fear out of her face and voice. "Varel, if this ends badly, tell Loghain that I will always love him and that my heart shall always be his," she said, her voice shaking noticeably. Varel could see the hope fading from her eyes to be replaced by a crushing despair.

"Son, please, put down the knife and let the Commander go," Varel pleaded, taking a small step closer. "Murdering her isn't the Maker's will."

"_Do not tell me of the Maker's will, heathen!"_ the man roared, jerking Lhiannon roughly against him and drawing more blood from her neck as she uttered a loud sound somewhere between a scream and a sob. He turned his snarling mouth toward Lhiannon's ear once again. "_They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world…"_

Lhiannon watched in horror as the man pulled the dagger away from her throat and held it in front of her, the tip pointed directly at her chest. _Oh Maker, help me. Keep Loghain safe. Maker, don't let him see me die. _With a flash, the dagger came straight for her, stopping only when the hilt was flush against the skin of her chest.

"_...or beyond."_

* * *

_"Embracing the Darkness" is now up on the site! I had to post it to the "wrong" genre and move it to "Dragon Age", since the Type 2 madness continues on FF. If you haven't seen it yet, please read and review. I'd appreciate it!_

_Extra special thanks to reviewers Arsinoe de Blassenville, Dante Alighieri, sleepyowlet, Aura of Darkness Night, Tyanilth, Gene Dark, and Shakespira (for being a reviewing machine!). I love seeing those little review alerts in my inbox._

_Thanks to you readers as well; I appreciate you all!  
_


	10. Fighting for Hope

Loghain had the madman in his sights, the arrow set and bow drawn back. All he had to do was ensure a clean shot before opening his fingers and letting the arrow fly free. The man holding Lhiannon hostage moved about in his agitation, his movements not stilling long enough for a clean shot that would not kill the man nor injure Lhiannon further. Loghain in no way wanted him dead; in fact, he wanted the madman very much alive, at least until Loghain was done questioning him. After that, Maker knew what would happen. Loghain narrowed his focus and concentration, his eyes locked onto a spot on the zealot's shoulder, watching for an opening. The sounds around him faded as his focus sharpened.

Fear was rolling off Lhiannon in waves to match the pain the man was inflicting on her. Every time he jerked her about, she hissed or cried out in pain, her arms wrenched painfully behind her back and manacled at the wrists, keeping her from casting any sorts of spells. Fear and despair were written on her face, tears beginning to fall from her eyes as they pleaded for help. The man forced Lhiannon to quote verses from the Chant of Light, those dealing with the evil corruptness of mages. A zealot then, his madness made worse by his blind fanaticism.

Loghain watched in silent alarm as the man suddenly raised his dagger into the air, chanting about maleficars before he quickly and forcefully plunged it into Lhiannon's chest with a dull thud.

She never made a sound.

The man lifted his face to the sky, screaming praises and thanks to the Maker for allowing him to complete his holy task. His shouts of praise were, unfortunately, the distraction Loghain sought. Swallowing his fear and rage, he stilled his breath, aiming for the man's shoulder and letting his arrow fly with the opening of his fingers. With a hiss and a thump, it found purchase in the man's shoulder. The madman let Lhiannon go, his hand scrabbling at the arrow, trying to pull it free as he bellowed in pain. Loghain heard a cry of anguish as Lhiannon began to slowly sink to her knees and it was only after a moment that he realized the anguish he heard was coming from his own lips.

* * *

Her voice was gone.

Lhiannon looked down in mute horror at the hilt of the dagger protruding from her chest, her eyes wide as her stunned and unbelieving brain tried to process the impossibility of what she was seeing. White hot, blinding pain radiated out from where the blade entered her flesh, quivering slightly with each breath she tried to take. She felt her breath coming in wheezing gasps, each breath becoming more and more shallow as the wheezing increased. Bright red blood began to well up from where the dagger entered her skin, bubbling out from around the hilt with each weakening breath and beat of her heart. She tasted blood in her mouth and as she opened it to try and draw a deeper breath, saw fine droplets of mist come forth as she exhaled and felt a steady, warm stream trickle out of her mouth, running down her chin to drip onto her shirt.

Strangely enough, over the screaming of the madman clutching her, she heard the arrow hiss through the air a split second before she felt the thump of the impact through the man behind her. He howled in pain, releasing her as he scrabbled to pull the arrow out. Lhiannon felt the strength draining out of her body and slowly dropped to her knees. Her wide eyes found Varel's own; he looked at her in shock before running forward to try and catch her as she fell. Lhiannon's head lolled back on her neck as her body began to slump over, her eyes gazing at the stunning blue sky above her. _It's beautiful_, she thought as her vision began to lose its color, quickly fading to black. She heard a howl of anguish from seemingly far away and tried to whisper Loghain's name, to let his name be on her lips as she fell toward the abyss.

Darkness came.

* * *

"_Find Anders!_"

Loghain roared the command at Cris as he dropped the bow and sprinted to where Varel was gently guiding Lhiannon to the ground, taking great care not to jostle the dagger sticking out of her chest. Teagan had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and tackled the crazed man to the ground face first as he scrabbled at the arrow in his arm, wrenching his uninjured arm behind his back and pressing a knee into his lower spine, pinning the man to the ground as he growled and bucked beneath him. Teagan fought the man with all his might, but it was clear that the crazed zealot would soon overpower him. Loghain quickly arrived at Lhiannon's side, gently guiding her to the ground. "Help Teagan!" he barked at Varel, who nodded and quickly scrambled to Teagan's side to help further subdue the crazed zealot.

Lhiannon's skin was turning a frightening gray color, the red of the blood on her skin a deep and terrible contrast against her pale pallor. Loghain wanted to remove the dagger and the manacles securing her, but did not want to inflict further injury on her; he would have to endure the agonizing wait for Anders to arrive before he could do anything other than hold her. He hoped Anders would arrive in time.

"Lhi, can you hear me?" Loghain spoke directly into Lhiannon's ear, hoping that she would open her eyes or acknowledge his words. She remained still, her breathing becoming more and more shallow and labored as he watched. "Lhi, you have to hang on. Anders is coming." Tears burned in the back of his eyes, blurring his vision as a lump formed in his throat. His eyes moved from Lhiannon's face to the dagger protruding from her chest; his eyes narrowed as he saw that a jewel with the symbol of the Chantry was set into the very end of the dagger. The hilt was of a design he had never seen before, ornate and ceremonial looking; showy and ostentatious. Loghain felt the red rage begin to build within him once more; again, the Chantry. They were getting to be as problematic as the Orlesians.

Hurried footsteps echoed across the courtyard as Loghain cradled Lhiannon close. He looked up to see both Anders and Jowan approaching at a sprint. At the other end of the courtyard, Loghain could hear Teagan's man Cris screaming for the mage Raelyn to come as well. Anders skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees on Lhiannon's other side as Jowan came to rest next to Loghain. Anders quickly examined Lhiannon, watching with dread as the blood bubbled up around the dagger's hilt with every shallow breath she took and how it trickled out of her mouth in a steady stream. He gently placed his hands on her, closing his eyes in concentration.

"One of her lungs is punctured. I think the blade has hit her heart; certainly one of the major vessels near it has been hit." Anders opened his eyes, looking directly at Jowan. "I'm going to start chanting the spell. When I nod, pull the dagger out and start your own spell, as powerful as you can make it. She'll die if we can't heal her quickly."

"I'm ready," Jowan nodded, ignoring the maddening call of blood magic. Lhiannon's blood was singing to him, calling out to be used. He pushed the call away, focusing on Anders' directions. He watched intently as Anders began to chant, his voice low and smooth, seemingly a beacon of calm in this chaotic situation; after a few seconds he nodded. Jowan grasped the dagger and smoothly pulled it out. Blood began to quickly well up from the wound, spreading all over Lhiannon's chest and coloring the tunic she wore a bright red. Anders moved his hand to cover the wound on Lhiannon's chest, directly conferring the magic upon it as his hand became stained with her blood. Jowan placed his hands on Lhiannon's stomach, calling forth all his power as he began chanting his own healing spell.

Loghain watched the mages work, leaning down and whispering encouragement and love into Lhiannon's ear, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers as the mages continued to chant. Raelyn soon joined them, her light voice joining those of Anders and Jowan as they worked their spells. After several moments, the wounds on Lhiannon's neck were completely healed, the drying blood the only evidence that cuts ever existed there. The flow of blood from her chest had slowed considerably and her breathing began to even out.

"Can we move her? I want to get the manacles off her," Loghain said, grimacing at the thought of her hands still bound as she lay on the ground between them. Anders nodded as he continued chanting. Loghain turned to where Teagan and Varel had the madman pinned; Cris and Trent had arrived alongside them, a length of rope binding the man's hands behind him. A small crowd had gathered, murmuring their confusion and concern over the chaotic scene that had quickly unfolded before them. "Varel, find the keys to these manacles," Loghain barked.

Cris reached into a small pouch on his belt. "No need," he said, pulling a set of picks out as Anders and Loghain gently turned Lhiannon onto her side. Cris quickly picked the locks to the manacles, pulling them gently off Lhiannon's wrists a brief moment later. "Anders, when can we move her into the Vigil? I want her out of the elements and away from prying eyes," Loghain asked, gently pulling Lhiannon's arms out from beneath her. He took her closest hand in both of his, gently massaging it to bring the blood back into her frozen fingertips. He moved his body to block Lhiannon's body as best he could from the gathering crowd around them.

"We can move her now, but we have to keep healing her," Anders said, placing his hands under Lhiannon and helping to guide her into Loghain's arms. As he stood with his precious burden, Jowan gently guided Lhiannon's head forward so it rested on Loghain's chest rather than loll back behind her. "Take her to my quarters," Anders said, earning a dark scowl from the Warden, who frowned and opened his mouth to protest angrily. "Don't argue with me Loghain," Anders snapped, "my herbal sundries and medicines are already there. I can heal her more quickly there rather than running throughout the Vigil. Besides, I'm sure you don't want everyone traipsing through her office."

Loghain had to reluctantly admit that the mage had a point. Not only did he not want everyone going through her office, he also did not want a constant parade of people through their shared chambers; if Anders thought he could heal Lhiannon faster in his own chambers, then that was what Loghain would do. She was most important.

"Very well," Loghain growled. He turned his gaze to where Varel and Teagan had the still muttering madman pinned, his struggles weakening as Varel and Teagan kept the perpetrator's face firmly in the dirt. "Take him to the prison. As soon as Lhiannon is stable, I will question the fool. Put him on suicide watch; I don't want that fool trying to kill himself." Varel nodded his assent as Loghain began moving toward the Vigil as quickly and steadily as he could. Raelyn placed her hand on Lhiannon's dangling leg and continued to chant a healing spell as they walked, allowing Anders and Jowan a brief respite so their mana could regenerate. Loghain looked down at Lhiannon's face and saw a small amount of color return. He looked at each mage in turn. "Thank you."

Anders nodded, brushing his hand across Lhiannon's cheek before turning his eyes to Loghain's. "Damn the Chantry, Loghain," Anders snarled through gritted teeth, the righteous anger coming off him in waves. "I saw the jewel at the end of the hilt with their precious symbol on it. They never clamp down on these zealots, and look at what they can do. It's not _fucking right_, Loghain. Look what they have done! Their zealot nearly _took _her from us!"

Loghain's gaze moved from Lhiannon's still face to Anders. Bright red splotches of color had settled on the mage's cheeks, a stark contrast against his fair skin. "Maker help the Chantry if I discover their involvement," Loghain snarled. "They will wish for Andraste herself to return to Thedas to save them from me."

With gentle fingers, Anders brushed a lock of hair out of Lhiannon's face. He then returned his gaze to Loghain and saw the grim determination and vengeful anger on the Teyrn's face. "This cannot continue. Loghain, if the Chantry is responsible for this or had knowledge and did nothing, I swear to you that I will fight at your side until they are brought to their knees."

Loghain saw the fire and determination in Anders' eyes. He may be juvenile at times with a light hearted demeanor, but that man was not the one standing before him. This man was out for retribution against those who very nearly brought tragedy amongst them. Loghain nodded. "So be it then."

Loghain followed Anders to his chambers, where he gently laid Lhiannon down on Anders' crisply made bed after the mage had hastily pulled the covers back. Raelyn and Jowan were close behind, quickly causing the room to feel overly crowded. As Loghain stood at one side of the bed, his hand gently smoothing Lhiannon's mussed hair, Anders moved to his workbench and began pulling bottles and pouches of ingredients out of small cubbyholes stacked on top of the desk.

"Raelyn, Jowan; I need one of you to cast a healing spell while the other casts a rejuvenation spell. Make sure the wound stops bleeding, but leave the uppermost layer of skin open so the contents of the poultice can penetrate the skin and do their work," Anders ordered as he began to grind ingredients together with a mortar and pestle. "Loghain, I'll need you to get the shirt off her so I can see the wound on her chest. Cut her shirt off, don't try to move her any further."

For a brief moment, Loghain was distinctly uncomfortable about baring Lhiannon from the waist up in front of the mages—one of which a virtual stranger yet—but quickly quashed the feeling. Loghain had learned to trust Anders' magical and healing skills; Lhiannon had taught him some time ago that not all magic was to be distrusted. It had taken a long time for Loghain to learn that; a lifetime spent distrusting such a talent was not easily undone. Lhiannon trusted Anders with her life; Loghain would respect her trust in her friend. Reaching down to his boot, he pulled his hunting knife out. Using his finger to pull the shirt away from Lhiannon's skin using the tear the dagger left behind, Loghain began to ease the knife through the rough fabric from the chest to the waist, grimacing at the stickiness of the coagulating blood on her shirt and at the brief glimpses of her reddened skin beneath. After quickly untying the laces at the collar of Lhiannon's shirt, he brought the knife down from the collar to the edge of the original tear before turning to slice open her sleeves, leaving the bloodied and battered shirt free of Lhiannon's body. When he finished, he folded the sides of the shirt back and grimaced at the sight.

Lhiannon's skin was covered in drying blood, leaving a sticky crust on her skin from the wound that began near the center of her breastbone on an angle up into the side of her left breast, the dagger tearing through the breast band and severing it as it passed. The wound was seeping blood still, but at a much slower rate than it obviously had been not long before. Turning toward Anders' stone basin, Loghain grabbed a washcloth, plunging it into the cool water and wringing it out before gently turning and cleaning the blood from Lhiannon's chest as Raelyn and Jowan chanted their spells. The smells of blood, sweat, and magic quickly filled the small room. Every time Loghain looked at the wound, it appeared to close further, the blood finally ceasing to seep from the injury. After several trips back and forth between the bed and the wash basin, Loghain had completed cleaning the blood off Lhiannon's chest, the wound still an angry red against her pale skin. A subtle shift in the taint drew his attention from across the room as he tossed the soiled cloth into a container next to the stone basin.

She had opened her eyes.

Loghain was quickly on his knees at the side of the bed, his hand smoothing the mussed hair on Lhiannon's head. Her eyes shifted to his, weary but cognizant of her surroundings. She opened her mouth to speak, but Loghain reluctantly stopped her with a gentle finger to her lips. "Don't try to speak yet; let Anders take a look at you first." A barely perceptible nod let Loghain know that she had understood. He brushed his fingers along her cheek and felt her head turn slightly into his touch, her eyelids becoming heavy once more. Loghain watched her fight to keep them open, unsure if he should encourage her to sleep or fight to remain conscious. That she was fighting lifted his spirits and filled him with hope.

Anders quickly turned from the workbench at the sound of Loghain's voice and nodded at the progress he and the mages made with Lhiannon's injury. He motioned for the mages to pause in their chanting as he laid a hand on Lhiannon's forehead, smiling at her in encouragement before he closed his eyes in concentration. Her eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion and stress of her injury pulling her into unconsciousness once more. After a moment, Anders opened his eyes and nodded solemnly, raising his head to look at Loghain. "She's healing well, but I want to put her under a very strong sleep spell for the next day or so. Her body needs to focus on healing with as little in the way of distraction as possible. The healing spells and poultices will be far more effective with her body completely focused on healing."

"What about the dreams?" Loghain asked, unable to take his eyes off of the hideous scar on Lhiannon's chest. He knew that one would remain with her for the rest of her life; a terrible reminder for both of them of what was nearly lost.

Anders shook his head. "I don't want her dreaming at all; her mind needs to be still." Loghain looked up at Anders, who with the flick of his eyes indicated Raelyn and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head; though the darkspawn dreams were nowhere near as horrific or violent as they were during the Blight and the reign of terror caused by the Architect and the Mother, dreams still came more often than not. Whether Raelyn knew of the dreams that plagued Grey Wardens or not, Anders could not say; it would be best to not speak of it in front of her.

"Do it then," Loghain nodded, "cast your spell. You have my consent to do whatever you must to ensure her well being." As he looked down at Lhiannon again, he saw that her blood adorned his shirt, a red splotch that was rapidly darkening to brown as it dried. Nodding his thanks to Anders and the others, Loghain moved from the mage's quarters through the Vigil to his and Lhiannon's chambers, removing his bloodied clothing before donning the underclothes he wore under his Grey Warden armor. He then marched to his armor stand and began buckling the plates of his armor into place. It was time to confront the lunatic that very nearly took Lhiannon not only from his side, but the side of the Grey Wardens and Ferelden herself. Maker help him.

* * *

"_O Maker, hear my cry: guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places…"_

Loghain entered the prison to the sound of the madman chanting verses from the Chant of Light. He was on his knees in his cell, rocking back and forth on them with his hands clasped together and brought up to his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut. Four guards were standing outside the cell, watching the prisoner warily. He had been put into an empty cell, devoid of even a mattress and blanket for fear he would try to harm himself in his fanaticism. Varel and Teagan were both there, watching the prisoner with wary yet furious expressions on their faces. They turned when they heard Loghain's heavy footsteps approaching from behind. They did not need anything like the taint to feel the raw fury pouring off Loghain like a tidal wave. His ice blue eyes were bright with furious anger.

"Warden," Varel intoned, nodding his head slightly, "the prisoner has brought forth no information since he arrived. He has been chanting verses from the Chant of Light the entire time."

"Canticle of Transfigurations, if my Chantry studies are accurate," Teagan added, crossing his arms over his chest. "How fares the Commander?" he asked, his voice low and grim.

Loghain cast a weary glance at both Teagan and Varel; suddenly, he felt so very tired and so very old, a sharp contrast to even earlier that day when he and Lhiannon had their brief, passionate interlude. "She is under a deep sleeping spell now. Anders says it will help her body heal faster. The prisoner has said nothing other than his rantings since he was brought here?"

Varel nodded. "That's correct, Warden. I imagine you would like to question him?"

With a snort, Loghain moved toward the cell. "At the very least." He brushed past the four guards standing in front of the cell and wrapped his armored hand around the handle of the door, jerking the door toward him. The guards had understandably locked it.

"Open it," Loghain barked, turning toward the head guard with an icy glare. "I wish to interrogate this man _now_. Up close and personal."

The head guard produced a ring of keys from his belt and opened the door, allowing Loghain to pass through and stand behind the zealot in the cell. The man made no move to acknowledge Loghain, but simply continued praying and rocking back and forth, his hands still clasped tightly together at his forehead and his eyes squeezed shut in his fevered ranting, seemingly oblivious of everything around him.

"Turn around," Loghain commanded sharply, glaring down at the kneeling man before him and praying to the Maker that he would be able to stay his hand and not throttle him in his rage. The zealot continued to pray, ignoring Loghain's command, which he repeated a second time. After the man ignored Loghain for the second time, Loghain reached forward, grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck and hauling him to his feet. The man made a strange gasping sound and his eyes grew wide with fear.

"Now that I have your attention," Loghain began, lifting the man a little higher so that his toes barely brushed the floor, "I have some questions for you."

The man gawked at Loghain, eyes still wide with terror. His mouth bobbed open, the jaw moving up and down as if he were trying to speak.

"_Those who bear false witness…_" the man stammered in fear before Loghain shook him violently, bringing his face so close that their noses nearly touched.

"Spare me your chanting, fool," Loghain growled slowly and menacingly through gritted teeth. "Answer my questions. Who are you?"

"A righteous, pious soldier of the Maker, sent to ensure His will is followed."

"It is obvious why you came here. _What is your name and who sent you?"_

"I have been sent by the Maker to do His Will," the man replied, his chin held high in righteous defiance.

"I see; murdering people is now part of the Maker's Will?" Loghain sneered, shaking the man once more. "I seem to have missed that part of the sermon the last time I visited a chantry. What were your other orders?"

Surprisingly, the man stopped shaking and looked Loghain directly in the eye, his own eyes narrowing as he stared at the imposing Warden. "I will not speak to an unbeliever and heathen, one who consorts with abhorrent, Maker cursed mages." He pushed himself back and away from Loghain, lifting his chin defiantly and resuming his chant. "_These truths that Maker has revealed to me…_"

Loghain reached out and grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and jerked him close, cutting off the man's chant in mid sentence; perhaps after a little softening up, he would be more talkative. "Rest assured, I _will_ see that you tell me what you know. I can be _very_ persuasive." Loghain roughly pushed him away, turning toward the cell door where the guards opened it to allow him egress.

Loghain stepped out of the cell, motioning for the guards to secure the door. "Keep him on suicide watch. Alert me if he decides to say anything other than the Chant." Loghain took several steps away before turning back toward the guards. "On second thought, treat him the same as the bard. I don't care if you have to suspend him from the ceiling as naked as the day he was born, but keep him on his feet and awake _at all times_. I want him so uncomfortable and broken that he will be _begging_ to tell me what he knows for a few moments of respite."

* * *

"Hand me that poultice, will you please, Raelyn?"

Raelyn looked over her shoulder from where she stood at Anders' workbench, peering at the various pouches and flasks of medicinal herbs and roots he had accumulated. A freshly prepared poultice rested on the workbench, waiting for use. She picked it up, moving toward the bed and placing the poultice into Anders' outstretched hand. He was standing over the Warden Commander, gently removing the used poultice to replace it with a fresh one. They and Jowan had been with the Commander for several hours, the constant stream of healing and rejuvenation spells leaving the air charged with magical energies and their voices hoarse from the constant chanting. There had been no time for talk between them as they took turns healing the Commander or rejuvenating each other. Jowan had just left, heading toward the dining hall to bring back several pitchers of water and some soothing honey tea.

"So," Raelyn began, watching as Anders' deft yet gentle hands worked the new poultice into place under the Commander's bandages, "you're _the_ Anders?"

"Oh, you've heard of me?" Anders asked, his brows rising and a cheeky smirk crossing his face as he secured the poultice in place. "Good things, I hope. Unless you've heard of me from the templars." He paused, his grin turning sheepish. "Or the Chantry. Or other mages. Hell, from almost anyone, really."

Raelyn scoffed, a small laugh quickly following. "Yes, who from Kinloch Hold hasn't heard of your exploits? Though some mages thought your...antics...detrimental, most wanted to emulate you to be free of the templars and Chantry oversight." She turned back to Anders' workbench, replacing tops to vials and retying pouches, moving them to the appropriate cubbyholes where they would remain until they were needed next.

"And which were you?" Anders asked, a grin pulling on the corners of his mouth.

With a scoff, Raelyn turned from the workbench, casting a glance over her shoulder at Anders. "Freedom," she shrugged, turning back to the workbench to continue putting the sundries away. "I was never a darling among the senior mages and First Enchanter; I've ruffled the feathers of one too many of the wrong people."

"Ah, a rebel after my own heart," Anders chuckled, finishing with the poultice and drawing the robe Lhiannon wore closed over her chest. He had managed to wriggle one of his robes under Lhiannon's sleeping form; he did not want to see her lying in bed with no shirt and dressed in trousers stained with the blood that had run down her chest. The robe was rather large on her, but it would suit its purpose.

"Being a rebel, as you call it, had kept me from being promoted to Senior Enchanter," Raelyn scoffed, placing the last flask into its cubbyhole and turning around, leaning up against the workbench as she watched Anders sweep a wayward lock of the Commander's hair away from her face. When he finished, he came around the bed to stand at the workbench next to Raelyn.

"I never wanted to be a Senior Enchanter," Anders said, leaning up against the workbench, folding his arms across his chest and watching the steady rise and fall of Lhiannon's chest. "Not that Irving would have allowed it after all the escapes I made from the tower."

Turning toward Anders' face, Raelyn's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I would have thought after you were recaptured a couple of times, the templars would have just executed you. Or made you tranquil, regardless of their rule about mages that had gone through their Harrowing being immune to such."

Anders shrugged, turning to face Raelyn. He noticed for the first time that she was several years older than him, small wrinkles beginning to form at the corners of her eyes; hazel, Anders noted. The outer edges of her irises were a deep green, gradually becoming light brown as the color traveled inward toward the center. Her auburn hair set off the green, the color dancing brightly in the light as her eyes moved. At this close range he could see the small smattering of freckles that dotted her fair skin; they were so small as to be almost unnoticeable from just a few feet away. He finally found his tongue again, licking his suddenly dry lips before he spoke. "Oh, I imagine the First Enchanter had his reasons for recapturing me rather than having me meet some grisly fate at the end of a templar's sword."

The other mage scoffed lightly, a low chuckle and snort escaping her lips. "That wouldn't have anything to do with that Fade spirit that's bound to you, would it?"

Anders looked at her, his expression dumbfounded. _How had she known that?_ Raelyn saw the expression on Anders' face and laughed, a hearty sound that would have likely woken Lhiannon had she not been deeply asleep via magic. "You know you wear your emotions on your sleeve, right?" Raelyn asked, scoffing lightly at the look on Anders' face. After a moment, Anders began to laugh too. "I guess my secret's out, Raelyn. How did you know?"

"Well," Raelyn began, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned up against the workbench, crossing her ankles casually as she stood. "I happened to be meeting with the First Enchanter a while back; I had a templar get rather snarky with me while I was at Kinloch Hold, so I put him to sleep and then cast a nightmare spell on him. The First Enchanter wasn't amused. Anyway, as he was telling me how my actions enraged Knight Commander Greagoir, I saw a file on his desk that he had been thumbing through and quickly put aside when I arrived. Irving left the office for a moment to confer with a Senior Mage, so I helped myself to a look at the file."

"And that file was about me?"

Nodding, Raelyn confirmed Anders' guess. "You had just been brought back to Kinloch Hold and put into solitary. I saw the title 'Spirit Healer' next to your name. I had never heard of that before and as soon as Irving let me leave, I headed to the library and started researching." Raelyn paused, the corner of her mouth turned up in a grin. "That's why Irving couldn't execute you or make you tranquil, isn't it?"

"You caught me," Anders said, shrugging and grinning a sheepish grin. "Spirit Healers are pretty rare. It irked them to no end that I was one of them."

Raelyn paused, looking toward the bed where Lhiannon lay, her face becoming grim as she watched the Commander's chest rise and fall. "She would have died, wouldn't she? If you weren't a Spirit Healer?"

"Yeah," Anders quietly admitted, shuffling his feet and running a hand through his hair. "She would have. I wasn't about to let that happen though; Lhiannon and I have been friends for a very, very long time. We're like family." Anders paused for a moment, his head hanging low as he stared at his feet. "I would have used every last bit of my life force to save her. I would have sacrificed myself for her."

Raelyn watched Anders for a moment, studying his troubled face as he stared at his feet. She could see that he had great affection for his friend, his compassion for others genuine and second nature to him. His laid back demeanor appealed to her, as did his obvious disdain for the templars and Chantry. She immediately liked him. "Somehow," she began, a small grin on her face, "I don't think she's the type that would have been happy to see you do that."

Anders scoffed, turning his head to look at Raelyn as he stifled a yawn; he was exhausted and could hear a bed—any bed—calling out to him. "You're not kidding. She would have found me in the Fade and likely let me have it."

* * *

_Was I a bad girl last chapter?  
_

_The Wardens don't know the name of the man that attacked Lhi...which is why it isn't referred to here. I also decided to put the roots of "angry Anders" in this story. That may be the only link to DA2 at this point, but I can always change my mind later.  
_

_Many thanks to reviewers Arsinoe de Blassenville, Aura of Darkness Night, Gene Dark, Tyanilth, and Shakespira. You all have duly chastised me for my misbehavior at the end of the last chapter. Can't promise I won't do it again though. :p_

_Thanks also to JackofBladesX for reviewing RA.  
_

_Thanks as always to the readers; I'm glad to have you following along!  
_


	11. Scars

Lhiannon looked small and fragile as she slept in Anders' bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Anders had cast a powerful sleeping spell on Lhiannon a number of hours ago, allowing her body to focus on healing without distraction._ At least she looks peaceful_. A fire had been stoked in the fireplace, chasing the chill from the room and pushing the darkness back into the farther recesses. Loghain sat in a chair near the fireplace, gazing at the dancing flames as he brooded silently, knowing it was deep into the night. Or was it morning? He had dozed fitfully in the chair, his neck and back loudly protesting the position in which he fell asleep.

Tiberius lay near Loghain's feet, reluctant to leave his mistress for even a few moments. Where normally the mabari could be found running about Vigil's Keep chasing Ser Pounce-A-Lot or loitering outside the kitchens and larder when he was not sleeping in Lhiannon's office, he had barely moved from the spot where he had laid down a number of hours ago. The mabari, though looking like he slept, always kept one ear pricked toward his mistress, listening to the steady sound of her breathing. Occasionally he would lift his head and look at Loghain as if to ask "is the mistress all right?" Loghain would reach down and scratch Tiberius behind his ears, offering gentle words of comfort that he hoped the mabari understood. After studying Loghain's features and then turning toward where Lhiannon slept in the bed, Tiberius would be satisfied for a short time, laying his head on his paws as if sleeping. After an hour or so, the process would repeat itself, both man and mabari giving and receiving comfort from the other.

This was the third time since becoming a Grey Warden that Loghain had watched Lhiannon's life nearly snuffed out of existence before him and it was tearing him to pieces. _Why didn't I shoot that bastard sooner?_

_ Why didn't I go with her to the guesthouse? _

_What if she had died? _

_Why did this man not come to my attention before this? _

_Why didn't I protect her?_

He rested his forehead in his hand, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to will the ache and the voices of self-loathing in his head away; the pounding at his temple was threatening to spread through the entire side of his face and head. Already he could feel his one eye beginning to water, a sure sign that his headache was far from over. After a moment, he pulled the chair beside the bed, taking Lhiannon's limp hand in his as Tiberius watched the exchange before settling his head back onto his paws. Loghain ran his thumb over the cool metal of the betrothal band on her finger; it was the protection spell that had helped to keep her alive, Anders had told Loghain after the sleeping spell was cast. Without it, Anders said, she would have died in his arms, bleeding into the dirt of the Vigil's courtyard.

Time suddenly seemed very short. Her enemies continued to pursue her; Loghain had to get answers from the zealot that attacked her. Did he work alone? Did someone hire him? If so, who? He needed to find the serpent at the forefront of this conspiracy and remove its head before they succeeded in their plans to kill Lhiannon and destabilize the arling. Ferelden was still far too fragile to have an entire arling descend into chaos and infighting if its arlessa was killed. Opportunists would clamor for power here, pressuring the Crown to appoint one of them arl or arlessa rather than hand the title down within the Grey Wardens. Loghain did not think the Crown would fall for such tactics, but best to not have the situation present itself in the first place.

There was no doubt in Loghain's mind any longer that the conspirators and the Chantry were connected in some clandestine way. He needed to find that connection—and soon—before they raised the stakes even higher. His gut screamed that they were connected; if he were asked why he thought such, there was no concrete answer that he could give. It was just something he _knew_ in his gut, and in his long years as a teyrn and general, his gut rarely failed him. Until he could make that connection and put a stop to their deadly shenanigans, he would strongly 'suggest' that she go nowhere outside the Vigil dressed in no less than full armor and preferably with at least one other person to serve as bodyguard. She would undoubtedly scoff, but it was a point in which Loghain would accept no arguments. Not this time.

With all the uncertainties whirling about Lhiannon there was one thing Loghain did know for certain: he and Lhiannon could no longer delay their wedding. It was not as if they were purposefully delaying their nuptials, but it seemed that life always had a way of interrupting, pushing their desires aside as urgent matters came to the forefront. He wanted to marry her now; in his mind and heart, waiting was no longer an option. Perhaps he could convince her to move up their plans; he did not think she would disagree. With a little luck, their nuptials would take the wind out of the Chantry's sails and assuage the ridiculous fears of the Grand Cleric and Revered Mother; she would share a title with Loghain and while he had no wish to usurp her authority or diminish her role, sharing a title may appease some of the more skittish within the Chantry. He scoffed inwardly; if the Chantry thought he could control her, were they in for a surprise.

They wished to be married before the Landsmeet, scheduled in four months from now. It would be later than was customary to have the spring Landsmeet, but the King and Queen wanted to wait until after their child was born so that they could present him or her to the gathered nobles as the heir to the line of Calenhad. With the last of the repairs still being made in Denerim from the archdemon's assault and the recent attacks in Amaranthine, the Crown thought it best to delay the Landsmeet a few months. Loghain had also wanted to travel to Gwaren before the wedding to discuss future plans with Cauthrien and Thorne, but that trip would take at least a month and that was far longer than he wanted to be away given what just happened.

Loghain's eyes wandered across the room; Anders had a small workbench in his chambers filled with flasks of herbs and liquids in which to make potions and poultices. Loghain also saw a small pile of parchment sitting next to an inkwell and quill; some pieces had Anders' neat, precise script on it detailing the formulas for healing concoctions. Other pieces were blank and stacked neatly in a pile near the inkwell. His mind drifted as he gazed at the parchment; he was going to have to send a coded missive to Denerim detailing the attack on Lhiannon. As he thought about what to say in the missive, Loghain came to a decision. He rose from his chair, leaning down and placing a light kiss on Lhiannon's forehead. "Sleep well, love."

Loghain then turned to the mabari, who had picked his head up and watched Loghain with interest. "You'll watch your mistress until I return, yes?" With a small bark of acknowledgment, Tiberius rose from his place near the fire and moved to the side of the bed, placing his large frame on the floor with an exhausted grunt. He settled his head onto his paws once more, content to stay at his mistress' side as her mate had asked. He reached down and gave Tiberius another healthy scratch behind the ears; the mabari rewarded him with a wag of his stubby tail.

When he finished scratching Tiberius' ears, Loghain stood, reaching over to smooth Lhiannon's mussed hair with a gentle hand before leaving Anders' chambers. He climbed the stairs first to his office, where he quickly penned a small note to Denerim, then quickly penned additional notes to Gwaren and Highever as the sun began to creep over the horizon. When finished, his feet then carried him to the roof of the Vigil; the messaging birds were kept there, tended by a bird keeper who looked to be nearly as old as Vigil's Keep itself. There were a large number of birds kept here at any one time, ready for dispatch to the far areas of Ferelden and delivering their messages far faster than any courier could accomplish. Using the birds, Loghain would have responses to his notes in under a week, even from far distant Gwaren. He watched as the ancient bird keeper affixed the small cylinders containing his notes to the birds, then after speaking a few quiet words of encouragement released them into the sky. One immediately turned west, heading for Highever. The other two flew south toward Denerim and Gwaren. Loghain nodded his thanks and reentered the Vigil, heading to his chambers to clean up and change before returning to Anders' quarters to be with Lhiannon.

As he entered their chambers, Loghain opened his clothing armoire and took stock of his meager formal clothes and pieces of ceremonial armor; they would be needed sooner rather than later, should his plans come to fruition. Loghain removed his rumpled clothes and took a quick bath, wanting to return to Lhiannon's bedside as quickly as he could. As he passed through Lhiannon's office on his way out, his gaze fell on the map and a piece of parchment that lay on Lhiannon's desk, her girlish script evident on the page, as well as squiggles and doodles she absentmindedly scrawled as she thought. They had recently been discussing sending a scouting party to southern Ferelden to see if the corruption was falling back now that the archdemon was slain and the darkspawn were, for the most part, fleeing back underground. They also needed to find where the corruption was still heaviest, a beacon pointing to where the tainted and mad Urthemiel emerged on the surface to spread terror during the last days of the Blight. She had the names of several Wardens on the page, some with lines through them; she must have been considering whom to send and crossed several names off the list during her deliberations for one reason or another. Now that he knew Lhiannon was going to recover, he could finish her task and send the Grey Wardens on their way; one less thing for her to worry about when she returned to her duties. Moving through the halls of the Vigil, Loghain found Varel and bade him to have several of the Grey Wardens and Sergeant Maverlies meet him in his office within the hour.

* * *

Oghren plopped himself into one of the hard, uncompromising chairs across the desk from Loghain, a gurgling noise erupting from him, followed by a snigger of amusement. Not wanting to know from which end the gurgle emerged, Sigrun groaned, kicking out from the chair she sat in and connecting with the other dwarf's leg. "You're such a disgusting...ugh...I don't even know what! No creature is as nasty as you."

"Heh heh," Oghren chuckled, twisting a lock of his beard between his fingers and leering at Sigrun. "Better out than in, I always said to Branka. Makes me one of a kind, doesn't it?" His gleeful eyes moved from Sigrun's wrinkled nose to the taciturn Warden seated behind his desk, annoyance written across his features. Oghren suddenly found the map of Ferelden mounted on the wall next to Loghain of greater interest.

"A kind that hopefully goes extinct soon," Sigrun snorted, her eyes turning toward the office door as Nathaniel led several others into Loghain's office. Jowan was following close behind Nathaniel, a nervous expression on his face at having been summoned to Loghain's office. Sigrun knew that Jowan was still acutely nervous around the Teyrn, even if Lhiannon stood at his side; she imagined that Jowan would feel that way for some time in Loghain's presence. He had not told her all the specifics of how he and Loghain knew of each other, but from what Sigrun had gleaned, Jowan thought it best to stay well away from Loghain most of the time, especially if Lhiannon was not with him. At the moment, Jowan looked like he wanted to crawl under the nearest rock.

Sergeant Maverlies entered the office a moment later, followed by Bann Teagan's man Cris. _Oops,_ Sigrun thought to herself,_ that's 'former Bann Teagan.'_ He was effectively casteless now, thanks to his conniving brother Eamon and his screeching harpy of a wife. Casteless was something Sigrun knew a great deal about and her heart went out to Teagan. Where she had been a casteless drifter her entire life, having to fight to survive, Teagan knew little of such things. She knew he spent his youth in the Free Marches while his family fought for King Maric during the war with Orlais. When he had returned to Ferelden, it was to the arling of Redcliffe and to a life of nobility. To be stripped of such a title and thrown off his lands—to rely on the generosity and mercy of others—had to be a tremendous burden on him.

Loghain beckoned for Nathaniel to close the door to his now cramped office, rising from his chair and positioning himself before the map of Ferelden on the wall. Sigrun saw that he looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes betraying how little sleep he had found the night before; _she_ certainly had not slept well the night before either. Sigrun glanced out the single window of Loghain's office, the sky quickly brightening as the sun cleared the trees in the distance on its journey across the sky.

"Before we begin," Loghain said, his icy gaze falling on each person in turn, "I know you wish an update on the Commander." Several heads in the room bobbed up and down in response and he also heard a "yes, please" murmured quietly.

"She will pull through. Anders has her under a strong sleep spell to help aid her recovery. I do not know when Anders will awaken her, but it most likely will not be today." Loghain stood taller, seemingly pushing the exhaustion away to focus on the task at hand. "Before yesterday's events," he began, placing a hand on the map of Ferelden as if to steady himself, "the Commander and I had discussed sending a scouting party to southern Ferelden, both to track the retreat of the corruption now that the Blight has been turned back and to see where the corruption still thrives." Loghain indicated an area between the Southron Hills and Denerim with his hand. "We have speculated that the archdemon came to the surface somewhere in southeastern Ferelden, not too far from Denerim, most likely in the Brecilian Forest. The Grey Warden Riordan sensed the archdemon's presence on his way from Denerim to Redcliffe, before the Commander and I arrived there to march with the armies toward the capital." Loghain turned toward Cris. "Teagan tells me you are familiar with the area."

"Yes, Warden; he is right. The Brecilian Forest would be an almost perfect area for the beast to surface," Cris said, coming toward the map and indicating the area of the Brecilian Forest with his hand. "I am familiar with that area of Ferelden; I had family that lived in a small village between South Reach and Denerim just off the West Road. We often hunted in the Brecilian and made travelers aware of the Dalish clans that wandered there; they weren't the friendliest people."

"What makes you think the forest was the perfect place?" Sigrun asked, genuinely not understanding why the Brecilian Forest would be, as Cris put it, almost perfect. "You'll have to explain it to me; I'm from the stone, remember?"

It was Nathaniel who stepped forward, his hand waving toward the map. "The Brecilian Forest is dark and dense; few paths cross it, the most heavily traveled one is the actual Brecilian Passage that leads to Gwaren. The Dalish wander the forest because few humans do; legends say that the Veil is thin there. Some of the smaller villages on the outskirts of the forest are very superstitious regarding the area and stay well away from the forest itself."

Loghain waved a hand in dismissal. "The legends are just that: legends. However, you are correct in that the forest is dense. Even experienced travelers find the forest almost impossible to navigate without a map. The archdemon could have risen from the ground there virtually unnoticed." He paused for a moment, his hand coming up to rub his chin as he considered the map before him. "I suppose it was a stroke of luck that Riordan sensed the archdemon at all while he passed along the West Road. It was fortunate that he did; had Riordan left at another time or taken a different route, the archdemon would have laid waste to Denerim before anyone could have raised an alarm."

Maverlies raised a finger, beckoning for Loghain's attention. "I take it then, Warden, that we are the scouting party that you and the Commander have spoken of?"

With a curt not, Loghain began to answer Maverlies' question. "Correct. You are to head to South Reach and from there, east to the Dalish camp and speak with Keeper Lanaya; the Dalish will likely know if there are heavy concentrations of corruption in the Brecilian forest and where it may be." Maverlies opened her mouth to protest her unease regarding the Dalish when Loghain held up a hand. "The Commander believes Lanaya will be receptive of the Grey Wardens; it was the Commander herself who helped Lanaya's tribe with a werewolf curse and in return, they fought with us at the battle of Denerim." Reluctantly, Maverlies nodded. In her experience, the Dalish clans near Amaranthine were prickly at best and hostile at worst. She hoped the Second knew what he was doing.

Turning his gaze from Maverlies to Nathaniel, Loghain pointed to the map once again. "Nathaniel, you will be in charge of this expedition. If Lanaya gives you pertinent information regarding the corruption, investigate it. If she knows little, then scout the area as best you can, noting on the map where the concentration of corruption appears to be holding steady. I shall give you what maps I have of the area; they have paths, rivers, and some landmarks already marked on them."

Loghain held up a hand, emphasizing his point as his gaze fell to each person in his office. "This is strictly a scouting mission. Mark the borders of the heaviest corruption on the map and in which direction the corruption lays. If you happen to stumble across any unmarked ruins, entrances to the Deep Roads, or—Maker help us—the actual breach, _do not enter them_. A full expedition will be planned for such things when you return." He paused for a moment, a grave expression on his face as he regarded Nathaniel. "If you find any sign of the Architect or his minions—any sign at all—you are to end the scouting and _immediately_ return to Vigil's Keep with all haste. Understood? Do _not_ engage them unless you absolutely must."

"I understand. I take it you and the Commander have already made preparations for this mission?" Nathaniel asked.

Loghain curtly nodded once again. "Yes. The Commander had planned on sending you off within a few days, but perhaps it is best to just get underway now. I want to keep her burdens light while she recovers."

"How long do you think this mission will take?" Jowan asked from where he stood at the back of Loghain's office. Sigrun turned as Jowan spoke; she could see that the mage was still acutely nervous around Loghain, slightly wringing his hands together as he spoke. _Ancestors tits, he looks like he's going to wet himself any minute. I wonder what happened between them that made Jowan so nervous?_

"I want you back at Vigil's Keep in a month; six weeks at the very most, so you will need to move quickly," Loghain answered curtly, turning his gaze once again to fall between Maverlies and Nathaniel. "The Commander had already begun to secure provisions for this trip; you'll all go on horseback and travel as light as possible so that you can make the best time. There should still be plenty of wildlife for hunting and fishing in many areas, so I suggest doing that and saving your dried provisions in case they are needed later."

Oghren snorted from where he sat. "This means a barrel of ale is out. Guess I'll have to pack bottles that carry a bigger punch per swig."

Rolling his eyes, Loghain ignored the remark from the licentious dwarf, reaching into a double locked drawer of his desk and retrieving a small flask, which he handed to Nathaniel. "Take this with you," Loghain said quietly, so that only Nathaniel could hear. "This is the darkspawn blood mixture used for the Joining, enough for four rituals. If anyone becomes infected with the taint, this may be their only cure."

"If it doesn't kill them outright," Nathaniel grimaced.

Loghain nodded once to Nathaniel before turning to the others gathered in his office. "Get your affairs in order today; you will be leaving at first light tomorrow." With that dismissal, Loghain watched as the attendants moved toward the door to begin preparations for the expedition in the morning. Loghain turned his gaze to Jowan, who he noticed had stood near the back of the office as if to blend into the wall. "Jowan. Hold."

Jowan abruptly stopped just before he reached the door, a pit forming in his stomach. _What could he want with me?_ As the last of the meeting's attendants passed through the door, Loghain moved to close the door behind them and turned his gaze onto the nervous mage.

"I wanted to thank you for your assistance with the Commander," Loghain began, standing tall, with feet spread shoulder wide and his hands clasped behind his back. "Anders tells me that you were a great help to him yesterday and I wanted to express my appreciation."

_Oh, that's not so bad then._ "Oh, well, you're welcome," Jowan quickly stammered, fighting to keep his eyes locked onto the Teyrn's icy gaze. "I was glad to help."

Loghain turned and walked back over to the map on the wall, lightly brushing the surface with his finger and tapping on the icon indicating the town of South Reach. "The Commander originally wanted Anders to go on this expedition to function as healer."

"Of course," Jowan agreed, nodding his head. "It makes complete sense."

"However, with the attack on the Commander, Anders needs to remain here."

Jowan nodded his understanding; of the mages at the Vigil, Anders was by far the most gifted in the healing arts, though his own skills with healing had improved considerably. "Understandable," Jowan agreed.

"I will admit, I did not understand exactly why the Commander was so adamant on conscripting you into the Grey Wardens," Loghain began, turning to regard Jowan with a hard stare. "When you allowed yourself to be a pawn in Velanna's blood magic scheme, you severely damped the Commander's trust in you. You should consider yourself _very_ fortunate that circumstances prevented you from receiving the punishment you so rightly deserved."

Standing still and feeling the pit growing in his stomach, Jowan said nothing. What was there to say? Loghain was absolutely right; his actions_ should_ have been punished. Jowan's gaze fell away from Loghain's face, looking at a spot on the wall over his shoulder.

Loghain turned from the map and began to slowly walk behind his desk, his hands clasped behind his back. "After the last Landsmeet and my conscription into the Grey Wardens, the Commander told me that she was giving me an opportunity and that she expected me to take it. I did." Loghain had walked around his desk, stopping in front of Jowan, his icy eyes holding Jowan's own; the mage found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the intensity of Loghain's stare.

"I now give _you_ an opportunity to show the Commander and myself that you have learned from your past transgressions. You will be sent on this mission as mage and healer. Perform your duty well, and you will have earned your Commander's full trust again. As you will mine."

Jowan blinked, surprised at the offer Loghain had given him. This was it; his opportunity to rebuild the trust he had so nearly destroyed with his actions, his opportunity to build confidence and faith in himself that blood magic was nothing more than a crutch—the easy way out. If this was to be his Harrowing, he was ready to face it and become stronger for his efforts. Nodding once to Loghain, he brought his eyes back up and met Loghain's own; Loghain saw fierce determination and a desire to right his past wrongs in that gaze.

"Then I am honored to accept this opportunity," Jowan replied, his voice strong and resolute. "I won't fail you or the Commander."

Loghain regarded the mage for another brief moment before nodding his acceptance of Jowan's commitment. "See that you don't. Go and prepare yourself; you leave at first light with the others on the morrow."

* * *

It felt like a horse had kicked her in the chest.

Lhiannon's eyes slowly opened and she winced at the pain throbbing through her chest. She looked around; her brows furrowed in confusion when she did not at first recognize the room she was in. After a moment for her mind to catch up, she vaguely remembered that she was in Anders' chambers at Vigil's Keep. Disjointed memories fluttered through her mind; the blue sky, a woman's voice chanting, Loghain's blue eyes. She brought a hand up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, grimacing at the pain that shot through her with even that gesture.

Not only did she feel like she had been trampled by a horse, but her chest felt like it was on fire as well. She gingerly sat up on one elbow and saw that she was wearing a robe that opened in the front. She did not recognize it; it was too big for her, the shoulder seams sitting part way down her arm and the sleeves ending well past her fingertips. It must have been one of Anders' sleeping robes, judging by the bright colors and silky feel of the fabric. Gingerly untying the knot that held the robe closed, she gently pulled it open and looked at the skin of her chest.

A poultice was tied around her chest, covering the place where the would-be assassin's blade had entered her flesh. That was a memory she knew would haunt her for the remainder of her days; just closing her eyes now brought the image back, crystal clear and frightening. She knew that would be haunting her dreams as well for some time to come; dreams of the darkspawn would be a preferable choice at this point. The poultice sat just off the center of her chest. With gentle fingers, she tried to peel the poultice away from her chest to look at the skin beneath.

"I wouldn't advise removing that just yet."

Lhiannon looked up to see Anders entering the room, quietly closing the door behind him before moving over to the bed. He sat in the chair that Loghain had left next to the bed with a sigh betraying his exhaustion, placing his hand on Lhiannon's shoulder and gently pushing her back down onto the bed. "I need to change the poultice, but I had hoped you would still sleep a bit." Anders paused, biting his lower lip in nervousness. "It's going to leave a very nasty scar, I'm afraid; I had hoped that it would have healed a little longer before you woke up. I know you'll want to see it."

Dread began to settle into her stomach. "Show me," Lhiannon whispered, relaxing into Anders' bed and allowing him to work. He sighed heavily, his lips pursing with regret as he nodded and began to pull the robe away from her skin. That she was naked from the waist up before him did not bother her; he had seen her naked before, when they were apprentices at Kinloch Hold. Nakedness was nothing to be ashamed of when one was a mage; it was a common enough sight in the Circle, both good naked and bad naked.

With gentle, deft fingers, Anders began pulling at the bandages holding the poultice in place. Lhiannon hissed slightly as the poultice moved about on her tender flesh. Anders gently removed the poultice, revealing the angry red scar that cut across one side of Lhiannon's breast and ended near the bone her heart lay beneath. She had many scars from her days as a Grey Warden, but this one troubled her most of all. Not only was the scar the result of a very personal and horrifying attack, but it also marred what she thought was a symbol of her womanhood; a womanhood she sometimes felt was lost since becoming a Grey Warden. She did not consider herself any more vain than any other woman, however this scar wounded not only her flesh, but her sense of _being_ a woman. Simply put, she liked her breasts and thought them beautiful, as she thought any part of the body as beautiful in its own way. Now one was marred permanently, a constant reminder of the lengths some people would go for their fanaticism. Would Loghain look at her the same way again, or would he find her less attractive for it? The thought was vain, she knew, but came unbidden nonetheless. _She _found herself less attractive for it. Lhiannon sighed, a single tear rolling out of the corner of her eye and down the side of her face. "Oh, Maker."

Anders nodded solemnly, running a finger over the scar to confer more healing magic directly into it. The angry redness faded somewhat and the pain was less severe. When he finished, he gently gathered the sides of the robe and pulled them together, covering Lhiannon's bare chest. He leaned over and placed small kiss on Lhiannon's forehead. "You know, Jowan was a great help while we were healing you," Anders said, running a hand over Lhiannon's mussed hair to smooth it. "I just wanted to let you know."

With a nod and a grimace, Lhiannon reached up and took Anders' hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm glad to hear that. He needs our help and support, Anders. I know that between the two of us, we can set him on the right path."

"What did he do, Lhi? I know he did something to upset you; Jowan has always worn his emotions on his sleeve for all to see. It must have bothered him a great deal to even consider such a barbarism as tranquility."

Lhiannon shook her head, sighing as she did so. The less that knew about Jowan's use of blood magic during Isolde Guerein's trial, the better. "That is something between Jowan and I, Andy. Please understand."

Anders nodded, his curiosity unsated. Perhaps he would eventually learn what happened, but if it was between Lhiannon and Jowan, it was best to let it go for now. "I understand, Lhi. I'll go find Loghain and tell him you're awake."

"How long have I been here?"

"Since we brought you here almost two days ago. It's evening now. Raelyn and I kept you under a sleep spell so that your body could focus entirely on healing."

Standing from the chair, Anders moved to the door but stopped when he heard Lhiannon call out his name. He turned, looking back as his friend as she gave him a warm smile. "Thank you, Andy."

Anders smiled, placing a hand over his heart. "For you, Lhi, anything."

* * *

Lhiannon could feel Loghain's heart pounding through his chest as he carried her up the stairs toward their chambers shortly after she had awakened. Anders was slightly hesitant to allow Lhiannon to leave, but Loghain's patience with keeping her in his quarters was wearing thin. Lhiannon had also insisted that she wanted to sleep in her own bed this night. Anders found himself facing a united front from his commanders, but acquiesced; he would, after all, be sleeping in _his_ own bed tonight as well. Loghain's breathing became heavier as he ascended the stairs, which made Lhiannon protest. "Loghain, let me walk up the stairs. I'll be fine. I promise to take them slowly."

Scowling, Loghain shook his head as he stopped for a moment on a landing to catch his breath; carrying her up several flights of stairs was certainly different than carrying her on level ground. _Maker help me, I'm not a young man anymore._ Lhiannon spoke the words to a rejuvenation spell, sending it into Loghain and renewing his stamina. He growled slightly as he resumed climbing the stairs, secretly grateful for her spell. "I'm not feeble. Anders doesn't want you overexerting yourself for a few days, that means climbing the stairs as little as possible. You still need to rest and heal."

"I didn't say you were feeble, but I don't want to see your heart explode either."

Loghain scoffed as he finally reached the floor their chambers resided on. He carried her to their door, where Lhiannon used the key he handed her to open the lock. She shut the door behind them and ran the bolt before Loghain took her into their bedchamber, gently settling her on the soft mattress. She winced briefly as she was settled into the pillows, Loghain gently crawling onto the bed next to her and pulling her close.

"Have you been able to get information from the attacker?" Lhiannon asked, pulling the bed covers up over her legs and settling herself deeper into Loghain's side. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her closer still. She shivered involuntarily at the thought of her attacker and clutched Loghain a little tighter. Anger and dread at facing her attacker warred within her; she wanted him to face swift justice for what he did, but the thought of seeing him standing before her made her want to vomit.

"No, nothing further. All he does is recite the Canticle of Transfigurations. He is being given the same treatment as the bard." Loghain scoffed derisively. "He thinks his chant will sustain him and give him strength; we'll see what another day or two of sleep deprivation and constant standing does to him."

Lhiannon scowled, bad memories from her childhood raised in a village of zealots threatening to come to the forefront of her mind. Who would want her to meet such a grisly fate? Was this person somehow connected to the village of her youth? Was he simply a crazed zealot, acting on his own, or had his 'services' been acquired somehow? She pushed the thoughts away as best she could, not wanting to dwell on them too deeply at this point. "Well, I have faith that you will be able to get him to talk soon."

"While you were convalescing," Loghain began, smoothing out the blankets that covered Lhiannon's legs, "I set the scouting party on the road. They left this morning, headed for South Reach."

"Oh, so soon?" Lhiannon asked, the confusion plain in her voice. "Who did you send as healer? Anders is still here."

"I sent Jowan along as healer."

"Jowan?" Lhiannon asked, turning her head up to see Loghain's face. He had his eyes closed, the exhaustion evident in the prominent dark circles beneath them. They were the telltale signs of his exhaustion; Lhiannon had quickly learned to interpret the various shades the circles took. Judging by how dark and deep the circles were now, Loghain was exhausted indeed, likely having had little sleep in recent days.

"I told him it was time he earned his Commander's trust back," Loghain said, opening his eyes and gazing at the wall across the room. "He needs to show that he is worthy of trust again. We won't know that until he is given the opportunity to do so."

Lhiannon nodded her understanding, resting her head on Loghain's shoulder. "I should have been there to send them off."

"I know, but I thought it best to set them on their way sooner," Loghain said. "We need the information they and the Dalish can provide, and I think the sooner we have that information, the better."

Nodding slightly, Lhiannon agreed. "True enough."

Loghain reached out with his hand and took Lhiannon's left hand, running his fingers over the blue silverite band there. "I think we shouldn't wait any longer to get married," he said, coming directly to the point. "I have sent missives to Denerim, Gwaren, and Highever, asking the King and Queen, Cauthrien, and Cousland to come to Vigil's Keep as soon as possible."

Lhiannon turned to look up at him; his eyes were far away as he gazed at the blue patterns swirling over her betrothal band, his thumb gently running over the metal. "Because of what happened?"

"Yes," Loghain replied, turning to meet her gaze as she looked up at him. "What happened is simply a sign that life it too short to be taken for granted."

A light chuckle filled the air. "But I don't have my dress yet," she said, putting an exaggerated pout on her face and sticking out her bottom lip. Loghain scoffed and rolled his eyes at her.

"You could get married in your stained and threadbare tunic and trousers. It doesn't matter." Loghain's mouth began to tick upward in a smirk. "However, I entrusted Anora with the task to bring something appropriate for you."

Lhiannon scoffed, shaking her head against Loghain's side. "Did you now? Have you thought of everything then? While I was sleeping?"

"Yes, I believe I have," Loghain answered, a smug grin crossing his features. "Anora certainly knows far more about formal affairs than both you or I, so I entrusted her with the _critical _task of procuring a dress for you."

"Perhaps I should have let _you_ plan things all along," Lhiannon snorted, turning her head up to place a kiss along Loghain's jaw.

"I am a renowned tactician. Perhaps you should have."

Loghain slid down the bed and under the covers, lying on his side next to Lhiannon and pulling her close, his arms holding her gently and lips kissing her softly, careful to not jostle her for fear of hurting her. She eagerly returned his kiss, her passion only slightly hampered by her injury as she wrapped her arms around him. Loghain's hands slowly caressed her back, feeling her warm skin beneath her shirt. His right hand began to lightly skirt across her body, moving to Lhiannon's front and gently brushing the side of her left breast...

She froze.

Loghain opened his eyes, looking into Lhiannon's face as her eyes began to fill with tears and a grimace of fear, emotional pain, and revulsion crossed her features. She looked away as if ashamed. His brows furrowed, unsure of her reaction. "What is it?" He asked quietly, bringing a hand to her face and brushing her cheek.

"I'm...scarred..."

"I saw it," he said quietly, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "And it doesn't matter."

"How can you say that?" she asked in a choked whisper. "How can you even look at me and not see it before anything else? It's made me...less..."

"Made you less what? Less of a woman?" he asked, gently moving his finger to her lips, shaking his head as he did so. "Impossible. It's just a scar. We all have them."

"It's not just a scar to me," she said from behind Loghain's gentle finger. "I know it's just a woman's vanity, but this scar is different. It's personal. I know it sounds silly; I have the scar by my eye, but it's small and mostly beneath my hair, hardly noticeable anymore. The scar on my hip was earned in protecting you; I chose to keep that one rather than have it faded…" She paused, fighting a sob that threatened to emerge. She swallowed thickly. "This scar...I'll see it in my nightmares as well as on my flesh; you'll see it every time I change my clothes, or bathe, or make love to me..."

"The scar isn't you..."

"But how can..."

Lhiannon's words were caught in her throat as Loghain opened the robe she wore, gently pushing it off her shoulder to reveal the angry red scar on her chest. She closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to see the look of revulsion that was undoubtedly crossing his face at the sight. She ventured to open her eyes when, slowly and deliberately, he ran his lips over the scar, feeling its texture with his lips and gently brushing it with the tip of his tongue. She gasped at the sensation of his lips and tongue on the newly healed and sensitive skin, unprepared for the shocks of electricity his touch evoked. She sighed, tears rolling down her cheeks as his lips began to cross the scar once more before traveling up her neck to meet her own. She threaded her fingers into his hair, opening her mouth to his.

She felt like a woman again.

* * *

_Oh wow, this was a long chapter. I really couldn't split it...I mean, I COULD have, but I didn't like how it "flowed" when I split it. So, an extra long chapter for you._

_It was time to start weaving in another facet of the story that I had planned and mentioned in a previous chapter; the final clean up from the Blight. I thought that since the archdemon and the horde beat the armies to Denerim, Urthemiel must have emerged on the surface somewhere in eastern Ferelden not too far away from the capital and __most likely under the cover of the trees in the Brecilian Forest. I have more to that theory, but that's for a future chapter. ______  
_

_Special thanks to revi__ewers Aura of Darkness Night, sleepyowlet, sapphiretoes, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Dante Alighieri, TG2000, JackOfBladesX (holy crap, you've been a reading and reviewing MACHINE; but you're caught up now!), and Tyanilth. You all rock!_

_Thanks to you readers, lurkers, and bookmarkers...I appreciate it!  
_


	12. Pieces of the Puzzle

The sun shone brightly through the windows of her chambers, warming Lhiannon's skin as she stood in the sun's rays, absorbing the gentle heat and thankful that she could still experience such simple pleasures. Her recovery was progressing as well as to be expected, thanks to the skills of Anders and the other residents of Vigil's Keep. When she awoke this morning—after having finally spent a dreamless night in her own bed with Loghain—she had wanted to immediately confront the man that had so grievously injured her, however Anders would not allow it; the stress and anger she would undoubtedly feel from seeing the man had to be avoided, for a short time at least while her injured heart and lungs healed. When Lhiannon vehemently protested, Loghain quickly agreed with Anders, a united front that Lhiannon found she could not break with any amount of pleading, reasoning, or commanding. No good would come from overly stressing herself at this time, both men had explained; she would simply have to wait until Anders gave his blessing as her healer and from the way things sounded, that was several days off yet. Their logic was sound, yet maddening at the same time.

Loghain sat at Lhiannon's desk, looking through the paperwork that Varel had just brought in when Captain Garavel arrived at the door, out of breath and red faced from his obvious haste in traveling to the office. He told Loghain that as the would be assassin was chanting not long before, Marjolaine began screaming for him to stop, that it was driving her out of her mind. When the man heard her voice, he started to call out for her. He was not calling her Marjolaine; he was calling her 'Sister Margaux' and was insisting to see her. Lhiannon heard Garavel speaking and came out of her chambers, taking the chair Loghain had offered to her and listening intently to the Captain's story.

"I think, perhaps, Marjolaine has not divulged all her secrets," Lhiannon said once Garavel finished his story. "Perhaps she needs more convincing."

A deep scowl crossed Loghain's face; he knew the bard was still withholding information. This chanting idiot may be the break they were looking for, a means of gathering information through methods other than outright torture. "Yes, it appears to be such," he growled, turning back toward Garavel. "Go; I shall be there shortly." Garavel nodded, moving from the office to return to the prison.

Rising from her chair, Lhiannon moved toward her chambers, her steps still somewhat gingerly taken; Loghain could feel agitation rising within her through the taint. He quickly followed her into their chambers, watching as she approached the stand holding her Warden leathers. Donning her heavy Warden armor was too ambitious a task at the moment. "And where might you be going?" he asked incredulously as she began settling the pieces of her armor into place.

Lhiannon snorted as she continued securing her leathers. "I'm going to the prison, Loghain. I need to be there for this myself." She swallowed the unease she was beginning to feel at the prospect of seeing this man face-to-face. Where she wanted to confront the man not long before, the trepidation was beginning to settle in once again. She silently cursed herself for the sudden lack of courage, swallowing hard and trying to put her unease out of her mind.

Heavy footsteps thudded quickly across the floor and Lhiannon looked up into Loghain's face as he grasped her arm with his hand, gently yet firmly. She could sense his irritation at her stubbornness and had he not remembered her recent injury, would likely have jerked her arm so she would be looking at him. "And what of Anders' orders that you should not be stressed now? You had a dagger pierce your heart! Only a fool would seek to endanger themselves with such a confrontation."

"Then I'll be a fool," she remarked dryly. "If I start to feel out of sorts, I can heal and rejuvenate myself." She stood straight, looking into Loghain's troubled face. His concern for her ran deep, his anguish for what nearly happened etched in the shallow lines of his face. She reached up and with a gentle touch, began to smooth those lines away. "I promise to only stay a few minutes; will that satisfy you?" she said softly, her hand still caressing the planes of his face. He gently pulled her close, settling his head on hers as her arms wrapped around his waist. "No, it doesn't satisfy me; I'd rather you stay well away from him and allow me to put my sword through his miserable gullet." He sighed, both in contentment and exasperation as Lhiannon burrowed herself into his chest. "Stubborn woman," he quietly groused, brushing his hand along her spine as he held her.

* * *

"_Stop! Enough!_" came the high pitched scream from down the hall as Lhiannon and Loghain entered the area of the prison with the solitary confinement cells. Loghain turned his head toward the sound of the exasperated bard coming from farther down the cellblock. "Enough of the damned chanting!" he heard Marjolaine wail in exasperation.

The would be assassin tried to peer through the bars of his cell and down the hall in the direction of Marjolaine's voice. Lhiannon noticed that the man appeared exhausted; dark circles framed his eyes from little sleep and his voice was hoarse, seemingly from all the chanting he had done. If the guards were not educated in the Chant of Light before, they likely were now.

"Sister Margaux? Is that you? I thought you were at the chantry in Amaranthine," he called out, his voice confused and desperate. "Why don't you answer me?" Loghain jerked his head toward Marjolaine's cell, motioning for one of the guards to check on her.

The prisoner caught sight of Lhiannon as she moved out from behind Loghain's stout frame to get her first close look at him. His eyes widened and he pointed toward Lhiannon. "The abomination still lives?" He fell to his knees, his hands raised toward the sky in supplication. "Maker, forgive your servant for failing his task! Grant me the strength to resist the foul magics and the opportunity to once more see Your Will completed." Loghain heard Lhiannon's snarl from next to him and felt magical energies begin to coalesce around her; he held out his arm, gently impeding Lhiannon's progress forward and silently commanding her to stand down. If her agitation grew any further, Loghain would have to insist she leave; her well being was most important and he would not see her bearing unnecessary stress, especially that caused by such a fool as the prisoner before them. With an exasperated snort, she fell back and the magical energies dissolved around them.

"Sister Margaux?" Loghain drawled to the prisoner, taking a step closer to the cell as his eyes narrowed. "Who might that be?"

"I want to see her," the man pleaded. "If she's here, I demand to speak with her! I need absolution and only she can give it!"

"Tell me what I want to know, and perhaps it can be arranged," Loghain offered, his voice cool and demanding.

Lhiannon placed her hand on Loghain's arm, drawing him back out of earshot. He bent his head down as Lhiannon brought her lips up toward his ear, her breath tickling his skin as she spoke quietly into it. "Perhaps we should bring Marjolaine out and see if she really is this 'Sister Margaux'. This could be the lead we're looking for."

Loghain kept his hard gaze on the prisoner, considering the Commander's idea. Perhaps this would be a better way to glean information from both prisoners other than more strenuous methods. Loghain had not completely ruled out harsher interrogation tactics if the situation demanded it. It would be a last resort, however; the Grey Wardens and the arling did not need such a reputation swirling about them. He glanced down at Lhiannon after his quick deliberations, nodding his agreement before turning to the guards on duty. "Secure the bard and bring her out. Let us see if this fool's claims have any merit."

It was a few minutes later when Lhiannon heard the shuffling of feet from down the hallway. Marjolaine was brought out, heavily chained and flanked between two surly looking guards. Lhiannon saw that the circles under her eyes were nearly as dark as her unkempt hair, her skin pale and face slightly more gaunt. The guards positioned her outside the zealot's cell, her face seemingly disinterested in the goings on around her; the zealot looked at Marjolaine and rushed toward the door of his cell, grasping the bars in his hands. His face lit with an unexpected joy. "Sister Margaux! It is you!" The man turned toward Loghain, his face darkening in anger. "Why do you hold a sister of the Chantry prisoner? Is it by that mage's decree? Is she afraid of the Sister and the Maker's righteous wrath?" It took all of Lhiannon's will to hold her tongue and keep the snort of exasperation at bay.

Marjolaine, having her nerves frayed by her imprisonment and the soldiers in Vigil's Keep for some time now, simply rolled her eyes at the prisoner. "So you're the one doing all that annoying chanting? You test what little patience I have remaining."

The prisoner's expression turned to one of confusion at Marjolaine's words. "I don't understand, Sister," he said, his voice bewildered.

Loghain moved forward, directing his icy gaze at the zealot in the cell. He pointed toward Marjolaine. "You know this woman? From where?"

"She's Sister Margaux from the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux," the man said, his voice tinged with hints of awe and reverence. "A true follower of Andraste and the Maker."

Lhiannon had to step back behind Loghain's towering frame and cover her mouth to suppress the snicker that rose to the surface and nearly bubbled out beyond the red rage she felt for the man. This man thought Marjolaine a true follower of Andraste and the Chantry? That _was_ funny. Leliana would get a kick out of this, hearing this man call Marjolaine a true follower of the Maker... _Wait a second...Leliana..._

A scoff from Loghain drew Lhiannon's attention from her brief daydream. "A follower of Andraste? I hardly think so. That's what she would have you believe. She is nothing more than a poor excuse of a bard from Orlais. I doubt she knows what the inside of a chantry looks like."

"You _lie_," the man scowled, "blasphemy! Sister, tell him it isn't true."

With a scoff, Marjolaine rolled her eyes and remained silent, her eyes lowered to the ground in front of her.

"Sister?"

Lhiannon watched as the man's scowl faded to a look of confusion, his brows lowering and coming together as he continued to stare at Marjolaine in bewilderment and disbelief.

After another long moment of silence, Loghain spoke up. "She can't tell you that because it's true; she is a bard." Loghain waved a dismissing hand at the guards, ushering them to return Marjolaine to her cell. As the guards moved, Lhiannon motioned Loghain over, away from the cell once more and away from the seemingly confused prisoner.

"I have a suggestion," she spoke into Loghain's ear, her eyes on the baffled prisoner in the cell as her breath tickled his skin again. Loghain's gaze fell upon her, a brow raised in questioning. "Oh?"

"Let us bring Leliana in; I believe she still has her Chantry robe. If he is as zealous a believer as I suspect he is, he'll confess anything he knows to what he thinks is a real sister."

Loghain's brow lifted again as he looked at Lhiannon. "Will Leliana be able to pull it off, if she were willing to do so?"

Lhiannon scoffed, a smirk on her face. "She's a bard as well, remember? Besides, she spent a great deal of time in the chantry in Lothering in quiet contemplation. She can do it. We will have to keep Marjolaine out of sight and earshot though."

"Will she agree, however?" Loghain asked quietly, "I thought she still had a rather strong belief in the Maker. She may not wish to portray such a role if she believes it will invite His anger."

Lhiannon thought about Loghain's words. He had a point; it was likely Leliana could have reservations about such a task. Leliana could outright refuse this task and if she did, was Lhiannon willing to press the issue and order it? Thinking of the dagger buried in her chest, Lhiannon decided that yes, she could make that order and would do so if necessary.

"I will order her if need be," Lhiannon said emphatically. "We need the information that he can provide to protect this arling and the Grey Wardens. The squeamishness of one person cannot derail the overall needs of this arling."

Nodding slowly, Loghain thought about Lhiannon's idea and found it plausible. Any tactic short of the rack to get the information they required had to be considered. "Go find her then. I will continue to work on the man until she arrives. I will also have Marjolaine moved so that he can speak freely without her foolishness to influence him."

* * *

Leliana was, at first, hesitant to agree to Lhiannon's request. While she played many things as a bard, portraying a cloistered sister to draw the confession of an attempted assassin left her slightly uncomfortable. The last thing she needed was a thunderbolt coming from the sky to scourge her. Leliana did have a genuine, honest belief in the Maker and that what she was doing as a Grey Warden was part of His will for her. Actively playing the part of a Chantry sister in such a manner left her slightly distressed. Lhiannon asked her to put her reservations aside; not only was this man a danger to Lhiannon and other mages, he was also a danger to those he considered 'collaborators' with mages. That meant the Grey Wardens and the arling were also not immune from the threats of men such as these.

"Leliana, we know he is connected to Marjolaine; he called her 'Sister Margaux'. We need to know what his real connection to Marjolaine is and what orders she gave him. We need to know where he came from and if knows anything of Marjolaine's benefactors." Lhiannon had taken Leliana's hands and implored her for help as the women sat on a settee in Lhiannon's chambers. "Please, Leliana, I need you to do this. I could order you, but I would much rather not. This could save us from using harsher interrogation methods; methods I would rather avoid if at all possible."

With a sigh, Leliana had agreed to Lhiannon's request, leaving her friend and Commander behind as she moved through the Vigil to her chambers. She found her chantry robe in her room, hung in her armoire with several other articles of clothing. Sighing, she donned the robe and went to the mirror. Gazing at her reflection, part of her felt the familiar calm and peace of quiet contemplation within the Chantry; she found that she did, at times, miss the quiet life of a cloistered sister. No plots or scheming, no one trying to pin atrocities against her homeland on her. No darkspawn, assassins, or bandits to deal with. It was a quiet life of reading, learning, teaching, and meditation on the words of the Maker and his Bride. Peace.

Reaching up, Leliana began to fashion her hair in a conservative style, free of the combs and braids she often wore. She removed what paints adorned her face, wanting to visit the assassin in as plain and unassuming a role as she could portray. While part of her looked upon her altered form with melancholy, another part of her was secretly reveling in the task ahead of her. She would be playing a part, putting to use her training as a bard, as she was meant to do.

Loghain almost did not recognize Leliana when she arrived at the prison. Without her face paints, elaborate hairstyle, or decorative ornaments, she almost passed for a Ferelden. Almost. When she came in to the prison, Loghain played his part by nodding respectfully and addressing her as "Sister," which drew the attention of the near assassin. He slowly stood and came to the bars of the cell, his shoulders visibly relaxing at the sight of the Chantry robe that Leliana wore.

Approaching the cell, Leliana nodded in greeting to the man on the other side of the bars. "I am Sister Laya," she said quietly, her Orlesian accent nearly unnoticeable as she played her part. "I understand you requested that a Sister of the Chantry come to give you absolution."

The man nodded slowly yet emphatically. "Yes, Sister."

Leliana turned to where Loghain and several solders stood guard. "May I enter the cell to sit and pray with the prisoner?" she asked in a cool, quiet voice.

The request drew a dark look from Loghain; this was certainly not something he was entirely comfortable with, given what the man had done to Lhiannon not long before. Leliana turned to give Loghain a knowing look, actually winking at him and giving him the slightest of nods. Opening himself to the taint, he felt her resolve and confidence. Loghain sighed to himself; surely Leliana's bard training included some sort of hand-to-hand combat. He knew her training included songs that stunned and captivated enemies, but if the man decided to wrap his hands around her neck, her songs would do little good. Leliana continued to look at him expectantly, waiting for his response. Against his better judgment, he acquiesced, waving for the guards to open the cell door and permit her to enter. He had no intention of leaving her alone with the man for any length of time, however.

"Must the guards stay?" the man asked as Leliana took a seat on the floor across from him, adjusting her robes about her legs. "I would rather just you and I speak and pray with only Andraste's spirit in our midst."

Leliana reached out and took the man's hands, grasping them gently and smiling serenely. Being left alone with this man, knowing what he was capable of, was something Leliana did not relish. It was one thing to be in the cell with the man, Loghain and his guards just outside; being completely alone with him was something else entirely. Her skills would not fail her, but best not to tempt fate. "I'm afraid they will insist on remaining," she said, her voice sounding regretful to Loghain's ears as she had picked up on his obvious disapproval at the man's request. "I am sure they wish to ensure my safety."

The man looked shocked at Leliana's words. "I would never harm a Sister of the Chantry," he gasped, genuine shock in his face. He shook his head emphatically. "_Never._"

"I am sure of that, my child," Leliana smoothly spoke, continuing to hold the man's hands in her own. "However, considering recent events, they undoubtedly feel it is their duty to remain. Would you like me to make them swear an oath of confidentiality before the Maker?"

The man turned and looked at the guards warily, considering his options. After a moment, he turned back to Leliana and nodded his consent. Leliana then turned to look at Loghain, a solemn expression on her face. "Gentlemen, I would have your oaths that you will not speak of this man's words outside this room. Agreed?"

Loghain nodded, playing along with Leliana's request. "Agreed, Sister." _There are enough witnesses to have him found guilty of his attempt on Lhiannon's life anyway, so even if the oaths were binding, it matters not; as long as it gets the bastard to talk and give us something meaningful to investigate._

Nodding, Leliana returned her gaze to the man in the cell, who nodded his agreement. Leliana gave him a warm, comforting smile. "What is your name, my child?"

"Elis. Elis Barne, Sister." He looked at Leliana thoughtfully before speaking once more. "Is it true, Sister? These unbelievers said Sister Margaux was something called a bard? What is a bard?"

Leliana squeezed Elis' hands as if to offer comfort. "A bard is a spy, my child. A master of deception." Leliana sighed, lowering her head briefly before bringing her eyes back up to meet his. "I'm afraid she isn't a true Sister; I have never heard of her, and her name is not in our Chantry records." The irony of her statement did not escape her.

"Why would she lie to me?" Elis whispered, disbelief coloring his voice as he shook his head slowly. "She said she was from the Grand Cathedral and that they had an important mission for me. She sent me to free a soul trapped in a vile, blood magic wielding mage." He paused for a moment, his voice still low and now becoming tinged with sadness and grief. "She even gave me a special dagger, one that she said was especially blessed in the Grand Cathedral for this mission. This was to be my guarantee of eternal life at the Maker's side."

Leliana turned to look at Loghain, her face bearing a questioning look. Loghain gave her a barely perceptible nod; he had the very dagger that was used against Lhiannon safely locked away in their chambers. "The dagger exists," he said to Leliana, curtly nodding. She made a mental note to ask Loghain to see it later; it could be a more important clue that he realized.

"Did you receive this dagger at the Grand Cathedral?" Leliana asked.

Elis shook his head. "No, Sister. Sister Margaux came to my village with another woman, looking for someone to perform a special task for the Maker. She brought it with her."

"Where is your village? What was your special task?" Leliana asked, her eyes quickly flicking to Loghain as she asked it. He was paying rapt attention to the exchange, no doubt locking away the information in his mind to be turned over with the Commander later. Loghain, Leliana knew, missed very little of such things.

"I'm from Greenwood Vale, and I was to release the soul from the mage," Elis said, holding his chin high. "The evil of magic traps their helpless souls, and we are to set them free."

Leliana could not help but catch the waves of surprise and anger flowing through the taint from Loghain. At the sound of the village's name, Leliana also felt her own stomach drop. That was where Lhiannon was from. The village that killed mages…

Elis suddenly pulled his hands out from Leliana's, covering his face and weeping quietly. "Sister, will the Maker forgive me for failing in my task? Am I doomed to wander oblivion, never seeing the Maker or Andraste?"

As Elis wept, Leliana thought about the woman he mentioned coming to the village with Marjolaine. It may be nothing, but it would be best to ask about who it was in case it did turn out to be significant later. Loghain would certainly be cross with her if she did not ask and Leliana in no way wanted to find herself on the wrong side of his ire. This might be the best, and only, opportunity to get that information from Burne.

"Elis," Leliana crooned, reaching out to touch his shoulder and handing him a handkerchief that she pulled from a discrete pocket in her robe. "Who was the woman that came to your village with Margaux? Can you describe her to me?"

With a sniffle and nod of thanks, Elis dabbed his face with the handkerchief and took a deep breath before he continued. "She said her name was Gabrielle. She looked thin and haggard, like she had a hard life. She had dark hair and eyes and said a mage was ruling an arling in eastern Ferelden. Gabrielle said the mage was holding her prisoner and that the Maker helped her escape."

Loghain's fists clenched and he felt his teeth grind together at the admission. _Isolde! It must be!_ Somehow, somewhere, she had met up with Marjolaine and they ended up in Greenwood Vale, convincing this narrow minded zealot to take a Chantry dagger and plunge it into Lhiannon's heart in a twisted attempt to free her supposedly evil soul. The leather of his gauntlets squeaked audibly and it took all of his willpower to not to barge into the cell, shove Leliana out of the way, and run the man through with his sword as he sat on the floor of his cell.

"What happened to Gabrielle, Elis?" Leliana asked, trying to keep her focus on the man and not on the nearly overpowering waves of rage that poured forth from Loghain. It was a difficult task, as the man was angry beyond words. "Did she accompany you here?"

Elis shook his head. "No. Gabrielle was going to stay in the village and rest for a couple of days before continuing to the Grand Cathedral. Sister Margaux and I left via boat and sailed to Amaranthine. I was to rendezvous with her once my task here was complete and we would return home with the joyous news."

"Sister," Loghain growled loudly between clenched teeth, hearing all he needed to hear from Elis. It was enough to start putting pieces of the puzzle together. The bastard's usefulness was near its end; the next step of his journey, if Loghain had any say about it, was to the gallows. "Your time is up."

* * *

It was shortly after Leliana's meeting with Elis that she, Lhiannon, and Loghain all sat in Lhiannon's office. The dagger Elis had used to stab Lhiannon was in Leliana's hands, where she turned it to and fro in the light of the wall sconces to examine the weapon. Lhiannon looked at anything and everything in the room but the dagger. If there were traces of her blood still on the weapon, that was knowledge she could certainly live without. She saw that dagger every time she closed her eyes; she did not to see it up close now.

"This is definitely a weapon that originates in the Grand Cathedral," Leliana said, examining the jewel set into the end with the Chantry's emblem emblazoned in it. "When I saw descriptions of weapons in Chantry documents while in Lothering, I was naturally curious about them. This is mainly meant as a ceremonial weapon, but as you can see, it is a true weapon."

"What is it used for?" Loghain asked, looking at Lhiannon as he spoke. Her wide-eyed gaze had fallen to the weapon and she was looking at the dagger like she was ready to be sick to her stomach. Loghain could hardly fault her for such a feeling.

"It is given to templars who are assigned to the Grand Cathedral; only the very best, most devout templars are assigned there, and the dagger is meant as a great sign of respect. You will not find this weapon on anyone who is not at the Grand Cathedral."

Lhiannon grimaced as Leliana passed the dagger to Loghain; he took it, looking at it with complete disdain and revulsion. "Could this have been stolen from the Grand Cathedral?" she asked, turning away from where Loghain was examining the knife and feeling the rage toward Elis building up again, conflicting with the nausea that still threatened to overpower her stomach.

"No, these daggers are always secured in the vault or on the templars themselves. A templar would never part with this dagger; they are to keep it with them at all times as a sign of their devotion to the Divine and the Maker while they are at the Grand Cathedral," Leliana explained.

Loghain returned the dagger to the cloth on Lhiannon's desk, ready to put the dagger out of sight once more. "And what if they are to leave the Grand Cathedral? What happens to the dagger then?"

"The dagger returns to the vault to await their return."

"So," Lhiannon began, looking between Leliana and Loghain, "if these daggers never leave the Grand Cathedral and Val Royeaux, how did Burne get his hands on one? He said he didn't go to Val Royeaux, that Marjolaine came to Greenwood Vale."

Sitting back in his chair, Loghain clasped his hands over his stomach, his brows furrowed in thought. "Burne said that Marjolaine brought him the dagger. She must have been in Val Royeaux recently, likely before she met with Isolde after her escape from the dungeon here."

"Do you really think that was Isolde with Marjolaine?" Leliana asked.

"Yes, I believe it," Loghain said, watching as Lhiannon nodded her agreement. "The prisoner said 'Gabrielle' spoke of a mage ruling an arling in eastern Ferelden and that she was held prisoner until the Maker set her free. Sound familiar?"

Lhiannon continued to nod, her glance flicking between Loghain and Leliana. "I agree. It's too coincidental to not be Isolde. So we know that Isolde met up with Marjolaine somewhere in Ferelden and traveled to my old home village. From there, Marjolaine and Burne came here via boat and Isolde was said to be traveling to the Grand Cathedral."

Loghain quickly rose from his chair and crossed the hall to his office, snatching a leather tube off a shelf near his desk and brining it back to Lhiannon's office. He opened the tube, gently and reverently sliding a map from the container, rolling it out on Lhiannon's desk. He stood at the center of the map—one of Ferelden—and began to gaze over a section of western Ferelden. Lhiannon felt the taint between them tinge with anger as he compared the area where Greenwood Vale lay to where the Imperial Highway crossed into Orlais.

"Maker's breath," Loghain swore, pounding his fist on Lhiannon's desk. "Given how much time has passed since Marjolaine and Burne left Greenwood Vale and arrived in Amaranthine, Isolde would most likely have crossed into Orlais by now."

"And with no word from the border," Lhiannon began, "we won't know for certain."

"She must have crossed somewhere near the Imperial Highway, but far enough away to escape detection," Loghain surmised, his finger running along the icons indicating the Frostback Mountains and the border with Orlais. "She had to have help. There are few paths through the Frostbacks into Orlais and without a guide, crossing over the mountains would be nearly impossible."

"There were always templars in Greenwood Vale when I was there," Lhiannon said, both hands propped on her desk as she stared at the small mark on the map where Greenwood Vale would be. She moved her hand to the map, her finger drawing an invisible line between the village and where the Imperial Highway crossed the Orlesian border. "There were always templars either going to or from Orlais, so I'm sure any one of them could have helped her across."

"And if she were disguised in full templar armor, including helmet, she could have easily crossed the border," Leliana surmised. "We know there are female templars, so seeing one is not unusual."

Loghain growled, shaking his head in annoyance. "Always Orlais. They can't leave well enough alone." He felt a sudden surge of anger through the taint and looked up to see Lhiannon standing next to her desk. Her cheeks were reddened and fists clenched in her anger. She turned to Loghain, her voice low and deadly. "Have we received all the information we are likely to get from Burne?"

Nodding curtly, Loghain indicated his agreement. "Yes, I believe so. Marjolaine, however is a different case; I believe she knows far more than she has divulged." Loghain grew pensive for a moment, his gaze moving from Lhiannon to Leliana and back again. "We may need to use more...persuasive...means of extracting information from her."

"Then get her on her feet; force her to stand as she is kept awake," Lhiannon growled, slashing her hand through the air. "I want guards on her at all times, making sure she stays awake and on her feet. Perhaps a thirty hour stretch standing without food, water, and rest will make her more receptive. If we must use more forceful means, I would like to get the blessing of the Crown first; that way it can be justified as being in the best interests of Ferelden as a whole. Detractors will have a harder time arguing with that. Once her usefulness is done, she goes to the gallows; at the very least, she helped plan the attack on me and I'll see her_ hang_ for it." She turned and began to pace away from her desk. "If Oghren wasn't on the trip to the Brecilian Forest, I'd order him down there to start singing his dwarven drinking songs. That alone is torture."

"It will be done," Loghain nodded curtly. "Except, perhaps, the drunken dwarf."

Lhiannon turned about, looking to Loghain and Leliana in turn. "Loghain, go gather Varel, Garavel, Teagan, and his companions. The right of high justice in this arling is my duty and I am going to make sure it is fulfilled _today_."

* * *

_I'm not 100% happy with this; my muse is a nervous wreck right now. I have to fly from Detroit to Minneapolis for work this week and I'm just a wee bit nervous; hence, the twitchy muse. I'll still work on the story while I'm in the hotel room, so it shouldn't be too long before the next update. I just love my Droid!  
_

_As always, special thanks to reviewers Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, Aura of Darkness Night, Tyanilth, Arsinoe, and Dante Alighieri. Your kind and generous reviews help me when I'm not feeling so confident in my writing. They often spur new ideas too, so please keep them coming!  
_

_Thanks to the readers as well, and to those who bookmark and favorite. I appreciate it! If you haven't PM'd me or reviewed, I'd love to hear from you.  
_


	13. The Right of Justice

The audience hall was bustling with activity soon after Lhiannon called for the would be assassin, Elis Burne, to be brought to the hall in Vigil's Keep for the right of high justice. Zevran and the Grey Wardens who had not left on the expedition to the Brecilian Forest had arrived, ready to bear witness to this hastily called session of high justice. The only Grey Warden not present was Leliana; Lhiannon wanted her well away from Burne during the proceedings. With the residents of Vigil's Keep were members of Teagan's entourage, notably Raelyn and Trent, along with Teagan himself. Loghain stood with the other Grey Wardens as Lhiannon and Varel stood at the head of the hall, dressed in full armor as they awaited the arrival of Captain Garavel and his guards, their prisoner in tow. Lhiannon was beginning to look weary in her heavy armor, which worried Loghain; this procedure needed to be wrapped up quickly so that she could rest for the remainder of the day and avoid a setback to her recovery.

Lhiannon's face darkened noticeably when Garavel and several guards brought Elis into the audience hall, heavily chained so that the man shuffled slowly forward. Loghain felt Lhiannon's rage and revulsion rolling off her even as her face remained outwardly stony; his own rage responded as he met Elis's eyes. The man was lucky that Loghain had not summarily executed him after his confession to Leliana. Loghain had summarily executed criminals in the past; it was not something he was necessarily proud of, but the executions had been necessary and he was a man that had been called on more than once to perform the deed that others either could not or would not do. Donal, Ceorlic...Katriel. Though it was not his hand that slay the elven bard all those years ago, he was the one who had put the sword into Maric's hand, in a manner of speaking. Lhiannon had insisted on this public hearing for Elis; thankfully, Teagan and his entourage were here to witness, reducing the chances of pushback from any outside parties claiming the Grey Wardens held a trial in secret. Not that it mattered; with Burne being a commoner, few nobles would question the proceedings and if the Chantry questioned it, that would serve to prove their involvement in the assassination attempt. Still, it was best to be cautious with such matters.

Elis was brought to stand before Lhiannon and Varel, his gaze defiant and pointedly not looking at Lhiannon. She was not deterred by his defiance; she moved to stand directly in front of him, her glare angry and fists clenched. "Look at me," Lhiannon growled at Elis.

_"Magic exists to serve man and never rule over him..._" Elis began, staring at anything but Lhiannon. She scoffed derisively, taking Elis's chin in her armored hand and jerking his gaze to hers, forcing him to look at her.

"_All men are the work of the Maker's hands from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker," _Lhiannon growled, glaring into Elis's eyes. "Do not quote Transfigurations to me; I know it very well, perhaps better than you think."

"Maker forgive me for not completing the task set before me," Elis growled, his voice somewhat muffled by the hold Lhiannon had on his chin.

"And how many 'tasks' has the Maker entrusted you with, Burne? How many mages have you and the men in your village murdered in the dead of night?" Lhiannon asked, her voice low and deadly in her anger. Elis's eyes went wide and Lhiannon snorted, roughly releasing his chin now that she had his undivided attention. "Oh yes, I know what goes on in Greenwood Vale, and I think the rest of Ferelden now needs to know what goes on in your little cult, especially if you have Orlesian bards in your midst and they use you as their own private assassins."

The failed assassin narrowed his eyes, glaring at Lhiannon with barely restrained contempt. "We serve the Maker, ridding the world of those who brought the Golden City to ruin and gave birth to the darkspawn." He turned around toward where Loghain stood, spitting angrily in the Warden's direction as he remembered the vow that was sworn with the sister of the Chantry not long before. "You were sworn to secrecy before the Maker! May He condemn your soul for your betrayal."

Loghain snorted derisively, folding his arms over his armored chest. _Sister of the Chantry indeed. _"If breaking a vow protects lives and the country I have dedicated my life to, then so be it."

Lhiannon jerked Elis's shoulder, bringing his gaze back to her. "You serve the Maker by murdering those who seek to be free or who desire to leave the Circle to live their own lives?" Lhiannon scoffed. "I saw my own father and brother murder a mage in cold blood just before I was dragged off to Kinloch Hold." Lhiannon watched as Elis's eyes first widened, then narrowed as he studied Lhiannon closely. "Oh yes," Lhiannon continued, "no one told you that I know about your little village because it was once _my_ little village."

"Who _are_ you?" Elis asked, his eyes narrowing even further, seeking to find some sort of recognition in the abomination's face. There was a familiarity to the accursed mage's features, one he could not place however.

"Amell. Lhiannon Amell."

Elis gasped as recognition dawned in his mind. "Brother Roddick? Templar Edwin? Your mother was Iris?"

"My father and brother. And yes, that is my mother." _Edwin is a templar now? Not surprising; it was his dream since he was just a boy._

Elis's face hardened, his eyes narrowing in hatred as he looked at her. "They are true believers in the Maker's teachings. They should have released your captive soul rather than have you sent off to the tower of abominations. Your mother died a true believer, having begged for forgiveness on her deathbed for birthing such a foul creature as you and bringing a stain to your family. Your father and brother devoted their lives to the Maker's service as penance for allowing you to live. Your father was my tutor as a child, imparting his knowledge and faith in the Maker to me."

"And his blind, irrational hatred of mages, no doubt. _Enough_," Lhiannon snarled, slashing a hand through the air to cut him off. The revelation that her mother had died stirred nothing within her; Lhiannon had dealt with the separation and severing of ties with her family long ago. They were strangers to her, simply people who shared a last name. They were not her family; her friends and Wardens were and she loved them _as_ family. Lhiannon turned to Varel. "You will pronounce judgment in my stead, since I am the direct victim in this case."

Varel nodded, coming forward to stand before Elis. "There are more than enough witnesses against you to find you guilty of the crimes against the Arling of Amaranthine and the Grey Wardens, most notably your attempt to assassinate the Warden Commander. Therefore, I do find you guilty of said crimes and sentence you to death."

Holding his chin high, Elis snarled and spat at Lhiannon's feet. "I shall be glad to go to the Maker and His bride, to be seated at their side in glory. You, however, shall never find the Maker's peace."

Having heard enough, Varel cut the condemned man off. "Enough. Let it be written that this man, Elis Burne of Greenwood Vale, is guilty of the crimes levied against him by the Arling of Amaranthine and the Grey Wardens." Lhiannon pulled Spellweaver, taking a step toward her attacker and brandishing it menacingly. _This_ would be justice.

'Guilty' was all Loghain needed to hear. Breaking from the ranks of the Grey Wardens, he stepped forward and stood at Lhiannon's side, drawing his sword from his scabbard, the snick of metal on metal loud in the quiet hall. "Stay your blade, Commander." He leaned forward and spoke softly into Lhiannon's ear. "I will do this and shall explain myself." Before she could protest, he broke away from her side. Calmly walking up to Elis, Loghain placed a hand on the man's shoulder and drove his sword through his heart. Lhiannon looked at Loghain, who was scowling darkly at Elis as the man's blood and life began to run onto the floor. After a moment, he slumped backwards off Loghain's sword to lie lifeless on the floor, eyes open and staring at nothing.

Lhiannon looked with disgust at the dead man lying on the floor before she raised her eyes to look at the Wardens, Zevran, and the guards gathered within. "Everyone, _out_," she barked, looking at each person in turn. When it was her, Varel, Teagan, and Loghain remaining, she raised her eyes to Loghain, the bright fury behind them clear for all to see. "I would have your explanation," Lhiannon growled at him, looking from Loghain to where the dead man lay on the floor. "_I_ was the one he nearly killed. The right of execution and vengeance was _mine_. I do not recall appointing you my champion."

Loghain turned his gaze to Lhiannon, his face hard and uncompromising. "You do not need his blood on your hands, Commander, even though the right of high justice and execution was yours. The Chantry is unhappy enough with you; you need no further scrutiny from them for executing one of their faithful. This execution will not stain me as it will you; they expect such an act from me."

"And what of the authority you just undermined?" Lhiannon growled, pointing to the body on the floor. "You found it necessary to push me to the side and usurp _my right_?" She watched as a dark shadow crossed Loghain's face at her accusation. He was about to tersely reply when Teagan stepped forward, looking at Lhiannon thoughtfully as he held up a hand to stay Loghain's retort. "Loghain is right, Commander," he began, his steady voice attempting to bring calm to the situation. "Had you executed this man—criminal that he was, and you were well within your rights to do so—it likely would have further antagonized the overly zealous amongst the Chantry hierarchy that may agree with this man's views. They would see him as a martyr had you been the one to execute him."

"I must agree," Varel said, a slight grimace on his face as he looked down at the body of Elis before them, the blood slowly spreading beneath him to cool on the floor. "You need no further enemies, Commander."

A united front, and Maker damn them all, they were right, Lhiannon reluctantly admitted to herself. When those who were responsible for Elis's hiring heard of their envoy's execution, they would be beside themselves in anger. His execution at the hands of a mage would further their zealous frenzy, making him and those like him martyrs for their cause. As much as she would have relished plunging Spellweaver into Burne's chest, it likely would have caused more problems than solved.

Lhiannon sighed heavily, glaring down at the man who attempted to kill her; Justice, the Fade spirit, would likely have approved the outcome. Turning from the men gathered around her, she began to stride from the hall. She reached the door and turned back, seeing the men look at her warily.

"Second Loghain," she began, squaring her shoulders and imparting all of her authority into her voice, "you will dispose of this body. You will also clean up the blood on the floor." She watched as his eyes narrowed at her and she had to fight to keep a smug grin from crossing her features. _Let him squirm a bit; it's what he gets_. "You will not delegate this duty either; this is _your_ responsibility and _you yourself_ will see it done. Understood?"

She turned from the audience hall, not waiting for his answer, knowing that he would obey however much it irked him. And it would; of that, she had no doubt. _He can clean up his own mess._

* * *

South Reach appeared to have been mostly spared from a direct onslaught by the archdemon and horde, apparently more concerned with sacking Denerim than the destruction of a moderate size town on the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest. The weather had been extremely fair, perfect for swift riding down the West Road with a minimum of difficulties. Loghain had also been correct in his supposition that game would likely be plentiful in the areas that the Blight had not thoroughly ravaged. As Nathaniel instructed his band of scouts to make camp, Cris and Maverlies had taken their bows to hunt in the nearby forest, bringing back two large deer that would provide plenty of meat—even for the constantly ravenous Grey Wardens—for this night and a large part of the next day. Sigrun, unexpectedly, was an adept fisherwoman, casting line and nets into the nearby river and bringing back a surprising bounty of fish to supplement the venison they would be carrying.

Once the deer and fish were cleaned and set upon spits over the fire, Cris came to Nathaniel's side, watching as the Grey Warden produced Loghain's painstakingly drawn and annotated map, spreading it out on a writing tablet resting on the ground beyond his folded legs. Maverlies's soldiers set up a perimeter, patrolling to ensure nothing came upon them unexpectedly. The Grey Wardens would take turns with the soldiers, their tainted senses trained on the wilderness to warn if any darkspawn approached camp.

"This is where Loghain noted the Dalish camp headed up by Keeper Lanaya," Nathaniel observed, pointing to a small icon of a tent drawn on the map less than a day's journey east of where they camped. Nathaniel ran his finger along a small blue line representing a river on the map. "This small estuary of the Drakon River flows toward the camp."

"The best campsites are along and close to supplies of fresh water, so we should follow that as closely as we can," Cris agreed, nodding his head. "I have not seen signs of corruption in the rivers as we traveled, but you are by far a better expert on such things. Have you sensed any corruption?"

Holding his nose to the gently blowing wind and sniffing, Nathaniel shook his head. "No, I have not seen any signs of corruption, but I would be lying if I said I didn't _feel_ it; there is corruption to be found, and not very far away if my senses are correct. At dawn, we break camp and head east."

"Do you think the Dalish are still there?" Cris asked, his voice low so that the others in their party could not overhear. Nathaniel turned to regard him; that silent question had been niggling away at Nathaniel's mind as well during they ride down the West Road. The Dalish often wandered the land, moving on to better hunting grounds when game began to thin out. Would they still be in the Brecilian Forest? Most likely, yes, but they would not know for certain until the reached the area on Loghain's map.

"Either they are, or they aren't," Nathaniel said, shrugging his shoulders. "If they aren't, we'll just have to scout the area ourselves before heading back to Vigil's Keep. And maybe with a little luck, we'll find them."

Nathaniel and Cris's worries were for naught when in the middle of the next afternoon, they rounded a corner of the Drakon River tributary they were following and saw several Dalish landships in a semicircular formation not far ahead; several elves were standing near one and looking warily at the approaching humans and dwarves, their hands conspicuously on their weapons. As Nathaniel and his companions approached, several more elves materialized out of the woods, bows drawn and arrows nocked and ready for flight. Nathaniel stopped a respectable distance from the elves, holding up a hand to indicate that those behind him should stop as well. He kept his hands well away from his weapons.

"I am Nathaniel of the Grey Wardens," he called out, his eyes flitting from elf to elf as he spoke. "I come seeking the Keeper Lanaya. Is this her clan?"

A male elf stepped forward, dressed in impressive chain armor and his hand on the hilt of the sword belted to his side. "Grey Wardens?" The elf turned to look at his companions, speaking with them in their strange tongue for several moments before turning back toward Nathaniel and nodding. "Bring only who you must and come with me, but know that our arrows follow you. Deceive us and die."

Nathaniel turned toward his party of companions, beckoning the Grey Wardens and Cris to follow while asking Sergeant Maverlies to stay behind with the remainder of the party. They followed the elf deep into the Dalish camp, the wary eyes of elves—men, women, and children alike—following them with looks varying from fear to outright hatred. After weaving through a number of Dalish landships, the elf brought them to a central clearing, where an elven woman stood next to a table, apparently teaching a young man seated there. Tomes and parchments surrounded the man as he sat at the table, scribbling madly on a piece of parchment as the woman looked over his shoulder. At the sound of approaching footsteps, both elves looked up and regarded the approaching humans and dwarves warily.

The woman stepped forward, bowing her head slightly in greeting. "I am Keeper Lanaya."

"Nathaniel, of the Grey Wardens." He held out a parchment to Lanaya, which she looked at warily for a moment. "A letter of greeting, sent by my commanding officer within the Grey Wardens."

Lanaya's eyebrows shot up as she took the proffered document. "My clan helped the Grey Wardens defeat the archdemon. It was our honor to do so," she said, remembering how the Grey Warden Lhiannon Amell and the man who would become King of Ferelden helped her clan overcome a werewolf curse and sickness brought on by her former Keeper, Zathrian, and his quest for revenge on the long dead humans who devastated his family. His revenge would have had no end, had the two Grey Wardens and their motley crew not intervened. Lanaya quickly unrolled the parchment, eager to read what Lhiannon had no doubt penned there. Lanaya began to read, her expression varying from hopeful to troubled by the time she finished the letter.

_Keeper Lanaya,_

_I write to you on behalf of the Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden, Lhiannon Amell, to both thank you for the assistance your clan provided during the battle against the archdemon, and to ask for your assistance once more on a matter of grave importance to both Ferelden and the Grey Wardens._

_It is our understanding and speculation that the archdemon, Urthemiel, and the bulk of its horde emerged from the depths of the earth somewhere in the Brecilian Forest on its march to Denerim. In the spirit of cooperation, I ask that you offer what, if any, information your clan may have on the state of the corruption in the Brecilian Forest, and allow Warden Nathaniel Howe and his companions free passage through your territory so that they can investigate said corruption and report back to Amaranthine. The Grey Wardens seek to close this breach and end the surface incursions of the darkspawn as soon as possible._

_I assure you, on behalf of the Warden Commander of Ferelden, that we shall conclude our affairs with a minimum of disruption to your clan. Should he find any information of note, Warden Nathaniel has been authorized to share such with you._

_I thank you in advance for your cooperation._

_Grey Warden Loghain Mac Tir_

"What has happened to the Warden Commander?" Lanaya asked, unease written across her lithe features.

Nathaniel shook his head, sighing as he did so. "Commander Lhiannon was attacked by a religious zealot several days ago and seriously injured. She is recovering and we have every confidence that she will be fine in a few days."

"I am glad to hear it," Lanaya said, the relief crossing her face. "Give her my regards when you return. As for the request, I will allow it in the spirit of cooperation with the Grey Wardens. Our hunters have seen some signs of what you call 'corruption'; it is a foul thing." Turning toward the gathered elves, Lanaya pointed to two of them and gestured them forward. Nathaniel watched as both a man and a woman approached. They both had the same color eyes and bone structure, however the woman had hair that was so fair it was almost white, while the man had darker hair, blonde with red throughout. Even from those two differences, Nathaniel could see that they were closely related somehow. They stepped forward, eyes casting warily about the Grey Wardens before turning to their Keeper, giving her a small bow.

"These are two of the best trackers of my clan, Anwen and her twin brother Hadyn. They know this area better than most anyone. I shall send them with you as guides."

The elves turned toward their Keeper; Nathaniel could see a simmering anger in their eyes and in how they held themselves. Clearly, they were not interested in leading a scouting party of humans and dwarves into the forest. Wanting to avoid any unpleasantness for either his party or the Keeper, he turned back to her. "Keeper Lanaya, I thank you for your kind offer, but it appears that they are…uncomfortable…with the prospect of guiding us through the forest."

"I would rather stay here with the clan," Anwen confirmed, her twin nodding his head emphatically next to her. "I do not relish the thought of guiding _shemlens_ through our territorial grounds."

"Nor I," Hadyn agreed, casting a hostile eye onto the Grey Wardens. Humans, in general, tended to make his skin crawl.

"You would have me refuse to honor a request to help the Grey Wardens?" Lanaya asked softly, her voice with an edge that caused both elves to blink in surprise.

"There is no longer a Blight, Keeper," Anwen protested, waving a dismissing hand at Nathaniel and the Grey Wardens. "You need not keep to their treaties; they are not enforceable here. And if they did try to 'enforce' them, the Dalish would rise up against them. They could be disposed of in the forest and no other _shemlens_ would know or find them."

"Enough, Anwen," Lanaya barked, slashing a hand through the air to cut off any further protest. "The Grey Wardens have saved this land from the ravages of the Blight. The Dalish, however you may wish we were not part of their world, have benefited from their actions. You and your brother will accompany them in their mission, then return here when finished."

Anwen sighed, her stony glare softening slightly; Hadyn turned to look at his sister and saw the angry defeat in her eyes. "_Ma nuvenin,_ Keeper," he said quietly, bowing his head slightly at Lanaya. "We shall do as you ask."

"_Ma serannas,_" Lanaya said, turning toward Nathaniel. "Before you depart, Warden, you may wish to see our merchant for any wares you may need on your trip. Be careful, and return safely and soon. _Dareth shiral._"

Nathaniel bowed slightly, offering his thanks to Lanaya for her assistance. "And _dareth shiral_ to you, Keeper."

* * *

_Some Dalish translations:_

_"Ma nuvenin" - "As you wish"_

_"Ma serannas" - "Thank you"_

_"Dareth shiral" - "Farewell" or "safe journey"_

_"Shemlen" - of course, is used to refer to humans. It also means "quick children."_

_Lhi wasn't real happy with what Loghain did, hence, making him clean up his own mess. I'm sure he was in a fine mood by the time he retired to their chambers later on. Somehow, I don't think he got "lucky" that night. :p He had his reasons for staying Lhiannon's hand and I thought they were sound. Her blade would have made Elis a martyr and that is the last thing she needs at this point.  
_

_Yay! Back from the business trip to Minneapolis; sorry for not updating the story as I usually do, but it's been a crazy week. I also have to travel back there for three weeks in May. I'd better get busy cranking out more chapters before then!_

_I'm also working on a one shot that came about from a challenge on the Cheeky Monkeys board. It's related to DA2 and is called "Permission." It should be up sometime this weekend, so if you could check it out, I'd appreciate it. It's pretty much F!Hawke/Fenris smut. I generally don't write smut for smut's sake, but there are always exceptions to the rule. :)_

_Extra special thanks to reviewers Gene Dark, Arsinoe, JackOfBladesX, Tyanilth, Shakespira, and Aura of Darkness Night. Your reviews are always appreciated!  
_

_Thanks also to the readers and lurkers. Everyone helps to keep me going._


	14. Nightmares Real and Imagined

_She was running; running through the darkened paths of Vigil's Keep, her pursuer close enough behind that she could hear his breathing in her ear, his hot breath against her neck. No matter how fast she ran, her pursuer was quickly gaining ground. It was a shadow behind her, darting in and out of her vision as she tried in vain to escape._

_Turning a corner, she found herself running through desolate landscape, the large, sun bleached bones of dragons poking up from the ground beneath her feet. "_Dragonbone Wastes?_" she thought, her panicked and unbelieving mind racing as she stumbled over a bone protruding from the ground, nearly pitching forward onto her face as she felt a hand brush through her unbound hair in an attempt to grab her. A snarling curse drifted to her ears, angry yet unintelligible. Finding perhaps one of her last reserves of energy, she willed her legs to move faster despite the raging burn in her lungs._

_Another corner rounded and she was back in the courtyard of Vigil's Keep, the steps of the fortress just ahead of her, but growing impossibly more distant as she ran. If she can get there, she would be safe. Fingers grasped her hair, yanking her backwards, her neck and scalp screaming in agony as she fell to the ground, the pursuer on top of her and pressing her face into the dirt. She turned her head to try and identify her attacker, the dirt and grit being forced into her eyes causing them to water. The face behind her was blurred by dirt and tears, but recognizable. It was Elis Burne, his face twisted into a snarl, his sneering mouth huge and large teeth glowing an unnatural white. His lips were moving as if chanting, but she could hear no sound other than gibberish._

_She flailed and struggled as he sat atop her and began to scream as she felt the cold metal of manacles circling her wrists. "_Oh Maker, not again! No..._"_

_He flipped her over onto her back, her manacled wrists screaming in pain as her weight rested on them, Burne's own weight on top of her an added burden. An invisible heaviness pressed on her legs, leaving them useless as Burne sat atop her, face leering down at her in an ecstasy of fanaticism. She watched in horror as Burne raised his dagger high above his head, his chanting gibberish rising to a fever pitch. She tried to move, to roll out of the way, but was held fast to the ground as if by unseen, powerful hands. With wide-eyed horror, she watched the gleaming dagger plunge toward her chest and through her body, both lightning fast and in slow motion at the same time. Searing pain ran through her chest as the hilt stuck out of her flesh and the impossibly long blade pinned her to the earth, the maniacal laughter of Burne assailing her ears as she felt the life and warmth run out of her body..._

_"Lhiannon..."_

_Her head moved slowly from side to side, trying to find the voice calling her name, eyes rolling madly and unable to focus. It had to be the Maker, calling her to His side…or was it a demon, coming to whisper beguiling promises of salvation in return for her very soul..._

"Lhiannon!"

Lhiannon sat bolt upright with a loud gasp, her hands clutching the burning scar on her chest as it heaved with her panicky breaths, her eyes wide and staring at nothing. Strong hands were immediately clasping her own trembling ones and she felt herself jump in terror. Loghain's welcome face appeared before her own, worry and concern on his features. "Lhiannon, I'm here. You're safe."

Loghain released her hands as he climbed onto the bed, pulling her to his side and smoothing her mussed hair as he comforted her and brought her back to reality. After several moments, her breathing began to slow and her trembling lessened. Her arms eventually wrapped around his waist, clutching him close as she burrowed herself into his side. He was fully dressed in his tunic and trousers, working in the next room when he heard her thrashing about in their bed and came to check on her and wake her from her nightmare.

"I dreamed of...him..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper and a hint of residual terror in her voice. "I saw the dagger...I watched it…"

"Hush now," Loghain gently spoke, placing a small kiss on the dark hair at the crown of her head. "He's dead and can no longer hurt you."

"Maybe not in a physical sense," Lhiannon agreed softly, "but he will likely haunt my dreams for some time to come."

Loghain sighed, continuing to hold Lhiannon close and stroking the hair on her head. "Indeed. In time, it will fade." He then stood, pulling Lhiannon to her feet and gently gathering her into his arms. She sighed against him, feeling safe in his gentle grasp. As she calmed further and her mind cleared, her thoughts turned to the events of the previous day.

"Why didn't you let me execute the man?" Lhiannon quietly asked after a moment of reflection. "You could have told me your reasoning first rather than just take the task on yourself." She felt him stiffen against her, but his arms only held her tighter, as if reluctant to let her go, to ensure her safety by keeping her within the circle of his arms.

After a moment Loghain held her out at arms length, studying Lhiannon with narrowed eyes. "I believe I made myself quite clear on the matter; arguing further serves no purpose," Loghain growled, his voice conveying his growing annoyance with the subject. "The last thing you need is a martyr."

"Do not undermine my authority again, Loghain, or I swear to the Maker you'll be doing more than cleaning up blood and bodies."

Loghain scoffed loudly. "If it is in your best interests, or the Grey Wardens, I will do it again, and gladly; as your Second, it is my duty to question or take the risks you cannot or should not. You've enough issues without adding martyrs to the growing list."

Lhiannon sighed in exasperation, not wanting to belabor the point further than necessary, but needing to give the matter some sort of closure. "Had you explained yourself first—your very valid reasons—I would likely have deferred the deed to you. I'm not totally unreasonable."

Loghain's eyes narrowed further as he continued to hold her at arms length, his grip firm on her shoulders. "Can you honestly say with absolute certainty that you would have deferred the execution to _anyone_ other than yourself? That your need for vengeance would not have trumped your reasoning?" He watched and gave a small snort as her eyes slid away from his, betraying her thought that she would, indeed, have had a difficult time relinquishing that task, if not outright refusing it. The truth was plain to read on her face. "It is easy to say you would have deferred in hindsight," he continued, "but I think we both know that you would have executed him yourself, regardless of the validity or soundness of any argument against it."

"Better to ask for forgiveness than for permission?" she snorted indignantly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she brought her gaze back to his. Loghain hit closer to the mark than Lhiannon would have liked to admit.

Loghain held her gaze, his eyes intent on hers. "If need be."

"Damn you and your strategies," she scoffed, shaking her head. Loghain pulled her close once again, feeling her body stiffen slightly against him as if she were going to press the argument further. After a moment, Loghain felt the soft press of her lips against the bare skin of his neck. She gently suckled his flesh, small shivers of pleasure running just under his skin as a smug grin crossed his features.

"I love you, you know," she breathed against his flesh before raising her head to gaze into his eyes; today, they looked to be as blue as a cloudless winter sky. They held her, enthralled, as they always did.

Lhiannon watched as a corner of his mouth attempted to tick upwards; he tried to keep a straight face, but Lhiannon could see the wry humor lurking beneath his features. "You have a funny way of showing it, making me dispose of the bastard's body and clean up the blood. I was on my hands and knees for an hour; do you know how much my knees and back pain me today? I am far too old to be crawling about the floor with a scrub brush and bucket."

Lhiannon snorted lightly. "You deserved it for such impertinence," she scoffed, running a finger down his chest and conferring healing magic through him; Loghain's pains eased immediately and a soft sigh of relief escaped him. "I suppose I'll have to make it up to you then, for making your delicate joints ache?" she sighed in mock exasperation, standing on her toes to brush her lips along his neck just below his ear.

"I should say so." Loghain brought a hand up to Lhiannon's face, gently grasping her chin and lowering his lips to hers, his hands wandering to the hem of her night shirt—his shirt, as she had taken to wearing one of his tunics to bed, which Loghain found to be a far better use of the garment than what he could provide—pulling it up and over her head. After several moments of caresses and deep, slow kisses, Loghain was divested of his day clothes, where they lay in a disorganized pile on the floor. He gently pushed Lhiannon back onto the bed, molding his body to hers as he venerated her with his hands and mouth. She lightly stroked his bare skin with her fingertips, raising her hips and pressing them against his in silent encouragement. Injured body be damned.

Loghain needed no urging.

They lay together afterward; Lhiannon nestled into Loghain's side, her head using his shoulder as a pillow. She cupped his cheek with her hand, her thumb gently stroking the skin along cheek and jaw, tracing the planes of his face. "Anders will be here soon to check on you," Loghain sighed, glancing out the window and estimating the time as he held his beloved close. Lhiannon's fingers had worked their way down his body, lazily tracing the planes of his chest with her fingers, reluctant to leave his warm embrace. "I'll be in my office for a time before I head outside to the walls of the keep; I want to make sure all our defenses are on the up-and-up," he said, taking her hand in his and kissing the palm.

Nodding, Lhiannon reluctantly rolled away from Loghain and gave him a small smile. "I should make myself presentable then."

* * *

Anders, after examining the still healing wound on Lhiannon's chest, would not give her his approval to resume the majority of her activities just yet. "You can't overly stress your heart right now, Lhi," he explained when Lhiannon had bitterly and vehemently opposed such restrictions, especially since her heart was just fine earlier that morning. _That,_ however, was information Anders did not necessarily need to know. "Your heart is still healing; magic can only do so much. Your body needs to take care of the rest."

"Andy, I'm going stir crazy," Lhiannon had groused—or whined, if Anders was asked his opinion. "I can't just sit around and do next to nothing for fear my heart will beat too fast. I do know a basic healing spell to help out."

"Which is exactly why you need to take it easy." Anders shook his head, pointing a stern finger at his friend. "Lhi, do as your healer tells you or I'll put you under a sleep spell for the next week. I would rather have you recover for a few days longer out of an abundance of caution than to rush you back to normal duties and see you have a setback." After a moment, Lhiannon watched as her friend's face darkened, the playful glint in his eye replaced by a dark brooding. "I can't believe the Chantry would go so far as to send someone after you. Why can't they leave mages alone? Why can't they leave _you_ alone?"

"I don't know, Andy," Lhiannon sighed, shaking her head and shrugging. "It must be a literal interpretation of the Chant that has elements of them so…obsessed…with me and my title. I wish I knew for sure if it was really the Chantry itself or just some fringe element." With a sigh, she turned her gaze to Anders and saw both deep resentment and concern in his eyes. She felt her own eyes fill with tears in response; she was immediately grateful that she had such fierce guardians and champions in her Wardens, especially Loghain and Anders, the two fiercest of them all. "You're right, though. Why can't they just leave mages be? We're people too, just as important as anyone else."

Anders reached out, pulling her into a gentle hug and holding her close. "Some day, Lhi, they will leave us mages alone. We'll be able to live our lives free from Chantry and templar domination, to take our place in society without the irrational fear the Chantry tries to instill in everyone. Maybe we can make King Alistair _see_; he _knows_ how awful the Chantry can be…"

"He can be open minded," Lhiannon said, pulling away from Anders and looking into his eyes once more. The anger and resentment had faded, replaced by a melancholy expression. "He was never cut out to be a templar though, so thank goodness for that. From what he has told me, he made many of the Sisters' lives difficult growing up."

"Good on him!" Anders exclaimed. He suddenly grinned, a mischievous grin that narrowed Lhiannon's eyes when she saw it. She knew that grin; Anders was up to something and it brightened her spirits. That was her beloved Anders, never downtrodden for long.

"Lhi, don't make me tell Loghain you're overexerting yourself; you know he'll practically chain you to your bed to keep you from overdoing it." Anders paused, his eyes suddenly widening. "Oh, wait. That would be a bad idea too… Why did I say that?" Anders frantically rubbed his temples, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. "I don't need that picture in my head...I'll never get it out now."

Shaking her head, Lhiannon sighed in exasperation before shoving Anders toward her office door. "Goodbye, Andy."

"Hey, that's overexerting yourself!" Anders cried out at Lhiannon shut the door behind him, a carefree laugh escaping her lips. From beyond the door, she heard Anders' answering laugh fade as he walked down the hall to other parts of the Vigil.

* * *

As Lhiannon sat as her desk completing paperwork and setting seal to the session of high justice that saw Elis executed, a knock came at her door. "Come in," she called out, setting her wax and signet seal down when she saw a young woman enter her office with a small parcel in her hands.

During the search of Amaranthine for survivors of the Mother's attack, a small shop near the center of the city was found to be in ruins, the only survivor inside the young woman standing before her. Her name was Katarina; she had lost not only her home and livelihood, but her husband and young son to the blight disease as well. They had barricaded themselves into a small storeroom at their small store, praying for the darkspawn to pass them by. A crash from the front of the building had drawn her husband to investigate. After several minutes of battle, followed by even longer minutes of silence, her husband returned. He was injured, explaining that he had fought off a hideous creature that was thrown through the front window of the store. The creature had been dying, but still put up a frightful struggle. It was not long after that Katarina saw the black streaks crawling under her husband's skin. When her husband died of the blight disease soon after, Katarina despaired, not knowing how she would be able to raise their son alone and have a life without him. When her son's skin began to show the telltale black streaks, Katarina knew she would go mad before she too succumbed to the disease.

It never happened.

Katarina was alone in her crushing grief after the deaths of her husband and son, a living nightmare from which she could not escape. In the deathly silence of the barricaded room, she gave in to her grief and exhaustion, falling toward sleep and begging the Maker to take her so that she could join her family in the beyond.

She awoke to the Warden Commander gently pulling her from the rubble of the store, speaking first the words to a healing spell before switching to words of comfort. Katarina had been nearly comatose when she arrived at Vigil's Keep and the Commander had visited her on a number of occasions as she slowly regained her strength. Katarina recovered and soon found work with the shopkeeper Lillian, who was grateful to have experienced help at last.

"Katarina," Lhiannon called out, motioning her into the office and to take one of the chairs near the desk. "Come, sit."

Katarina approached the desk, setting the small parcel on the desk and pushing it toward Lhiannon. "I found what you were looking for, Commander."

Reaching out, Lhiannon took the small bundle, opening it up and finding a small piece of raw blue silverite within. The plan was to take it to Wade and Herren's shop to have it worked. Wade would surely grumble at the sight of what he felt was a mundane metal, but once Lhiannon told him what she wanted, he would most likely acquiesce and flit about his shop, gushing the whole while. She grinned, gazing at the blue hue swirling across the surface of the metal. "Thank you, Katarina." Looking up, she saw a far away, distressed look in the young woman's eyes, her face twitching as if it would shatter any moment. "What is it?"

"I'm with child."

Lhiannon watched as Katarina lowered her face into her hands and began to weep. Lhiannon quickly came around the desk, sitting in the chair next to Katarina and placing a hand on her shoulder, gently stroking her back. The all too familiar pang of regret threatened to rise again within Lhiannon; swallowing hard, she crushed it inside her. There was nothing to be gained focusing on what would never be.

With a sniffle, Katarina lifted her eyes to Lhiannon. "I'm sorry, Commander. I'm just a bit overwhelmed. I never expected this…"

"When is the child due?" Lhiannon asked, taking the young woman's hand in hers.

"Your healer friend, Anders, says the child should be here in about seven months. It's a living reminder of my husband and son." Katarina turned her gaze to Lhiannon, gently swiping at her eyes with a small handkerchief she pulled from a pocket in her dress. "I'm grateful that you convinced me to stay on at Vigil's Keep and that Lillian hired me on. You've given me a new start."

"It was no trouble," Lhiannon replied, waving her hand to indicate such. "I'm just glad that you have decided to make Vigil's Keep your home."

Katarina stood, smiling warmly at Lhiannon. "I should get back to the shop. Lillian will be wondering where I've gone."

Lhiannon guided her to the door, smiling as she did to. "Give Lillian my regards. And tell your neighbor Wade that I shall be along shortly with a project for him."

* * *

A group of riders on the North Road drew Loghain from where he was examining the outer walls of the compound to the observation tower near the front gates. One of the guards handed Loghain a spyglass, which he brought to his eye to watch the approaching group of riders.

There were several heavily armored men on horseback surrounding what looked like a grand carriage approaching from the west. As he watched, the entourage did not follow the curve of the North Road toward Denerim, but instead veered onto the road leading them directly to the Vigil. The two riders at the forefront of the group carried flags bearing a standard. Even from this distance, Loghain could see that the standard they bore was not the standard of Highever or any of the other landholders to the west.

They bore the brightly colored standard of Andraste's flame.

"The Chantry," Loghain growled, handing the spyglass back to the guard next to him. "Andraste's flaming arse." Turning from the observation tower, Loghain began to quickly climb down the ladder to the ground, turning and moving at a swift pace toward the main steps of the Vigil. At least he had donned his full Grey Warden armor for his rounds today; he had had a gut feeling that he would likely need it, and sooner rather than later.

As he entered the Vigil, Loghain passed Varel in the hallway. He held up a hand to stop the seneschal. "Varel, riders bearing the Chantry standard approach the Vigil."

"Holy Maker," Varel scoffed, stopping in his tracks to regard Loghain. "The Commander doesn't need this today; Warden Anders has already admonished her for trying to take on too many duties at once while she heals from the attack."

"I can imagine so," Loghain agreed, lifting a hand to point toward the door. "I will inform the Commander that we have guests arriving. See to them when they arrive. Keep them in the audience hall until the Commander arrives; they can get into the least amount of trouble there."

As Loghain headed toward the chambers he shared with Lhiannon, Anders came bustling out of the dining hall, quickly falling into step with Loghain as he walked.

"Did I just hear you say riders from the Chantry are coming?" Anders asked, his voice both annoyed and incredulous. "What in the bloody hell do they want here? Haven't they caused enough problems and given us enough nightmares? They're like a bad rash."

"I doubt it's a social call," Loghain growled as he reached the steps leading to his chambers. He turned and looked at the mage, his icy glare becoming harder with each passing moment. "Find the other Wardens and tell them to get into their Warden armor immediately," Loghain said curtly, motioning toward the audience hall behind them. "I want the Grey Wardens there when whoever this is arrives. We need to present a united front in support of the Commander."

"Bloody Chantry," Anders snarled, shaking his head angrily. "Always sticking their noses in other people's business."

"Be that as it may, we need to be cautious of them, especially now," Loghain said, turning back and mounting the stairs once more. "Get ready for them; find the other Wardens and have them assemble in the audience hall as soon as possible. I will keep them busy until the Commander arrives."

Loghain continued to mount the stairs at an urgent pace, feelings of trepidation and anger beginning to settle into his stomach. He could guess as to who may well be approaching in the carriage bearing the Chantry's standard; his first thought was the Revered Mother from Amaranthine was paying them a visit. It was also possible that persnickety ninny from Denerim, the Grand Cleric, was with her, fresh from their trip to see the Divine in Orlais. That made more sense, given the direction the entourage had come from. The thought made Loghain growl quietly. If they had marching orders from the Divine—in _Orlais_—he was positive that nothing good could come of it.

He reached the door to Lhiannon's office and their shared chambers. She had the door partially closed, no doubt for privacy as she worked. Since Anders had restricted her duties as her healer, she spent a great deal of time catching up on paperwork and going through the ledgers with Varel. Opening the door, he saw that Lhiannon was indeed at her desk, dressed in her Grey Warden tunic and pants and perusing a thick ledger.

Lhiannon looked up as she saw Loghain enter the doorway and march up to her desk, an urgent purpose to his steps. Her brow furrowed when she saw the dark look on his face and the consternation flowing through the taint. "Loghain, what is it?" she asked, marking her spot in the ledger and closing the heavy book. She stood as Loghain's eyes flicked to the window behind her. She turned and looked outside, seeing the riders approaching the gates of the Vigil.

"I take it we have visitors?" Lhiannon asked, turning around to face Loghain once again. A snarl had crossed his face as he watched the riders approach; when he turned his gaze onto Lhiannon, it softened somewhat, the anger replaced by a deep concern.

"Yes. Visitors from the Chantry," he growled. Lhiannon's face paled momentarily before turning hard. She whirled around again to see the riders enter the gates and head for the stables. As she continued to peer out the window, she could clearly see the emblem of the Chantry on the heralds the lead riders held.

"What in the bloody hell do they want, do you suppose?" she asked, watching as the carriage and its entourage stopped at the stables. "More riddles and telling me how unacceptable I am?"

"Whatever it is, it cannot be good," Loghain said, reaching forward and turning her around to face him. "You had best get into your armor. I would not have you meet them unprepared. There are sure to be templars among the entourage."

"Do you think they will be looking to pick a fight?"

Loghain scoffed derisively, narrowing his eyes as an angry look crossed his features. "They would be fools to do so."

Lhiannon raised a brow, scoffing lightly as she shook her head. "Well, considering the events of the last week, I can't say I blame you for wanting me in full armor." She quickly moved to their inner chambers and to the armor stand holding her Warden Commander armor. Pulling the padding off, she began to dress.

"I will go speak with whomever is here while you prepare," Loghain said, moving toward the door once Lhiannon had her padding in place. "Take your time. Make _them_ wait for _you._"

"They are likely angry enough with me, Loghain," Lhiannon scoffed, buckling her greaves into place. "Would you have me tempt their ire further?" When she finished buckling the armor into place, she looked up at Loghain as she reached for her breastplate and saw the wry grin on his face. Of course, he would want her to tempt them, if only to irritate them further and keep them unsettled. He had a point; how much more could she anger them at present? "Oh, go on," she chuckled, "I'll be there as soon as I'm ready."

* * *

_Don't mind me...just planting a few seeds this chapter. ;)_

_Thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, JackOfBladesX, Arsinoe, Gene, Tyanilth, and Shakespira. You all (and a couple of others floating around but haven't reviewed in a while...and I KNOW who you are) are my wonderful nucleus and I'm extremely grateful for all your insight, comments, help, constructive criticism, and giggles.  
_

_Holy cow...a big THANKS to all of you who checked out my one-shot "Permission". I can't believe how many hits, visitors, and favorites it received. I guess DA2 is the new hotness. Even so, I don't have any plans to go crazy with stories there. Lhi and Loghain are still #1. Though for those of you that asked for the second half of the story in "Permission", I may do that just to say the small story is compete. If you haven't checked it out, get over there and do it! I want/need/crave your feedback on that story as well as this one._

_Thanks to everyone for following along!  
_


	15. Old Arguments and New Demands

_Note: Translations for the Dalish phrases within the story are at the end of the chapter._

* * *

Nathaniel found that the elves Lanaya sent with the Grey Wardens and their scouts were just as good as the Keeper insisted. Anwen and Hadyn led them on a straight path through the Brecilian Forest with hardly a second guess, leading them to an area of blighted land only a couple hours walk southeast of the Dalish camp. The brother and sister were virtually silent, speaking only to each other in the elven tongue and all but ignoring the group of humans and dwarves that followed behind them, save for occasional glances behind them, likely to see if they had by some fortunate fluke managed to lose their charges in the dense foliage.

Anwen had no strong feelings one way or another for the two children of the stone that followed behind them; past history told the Dalish that the dwarves kept mostly to their underground realm, coming to the surface for either trade or exile. They had never tried to subjugate the elves in the days of Elvhenan.

Humans, however, were completely different to Anwen. Yes, the Warden Commander did their tribe a tremendous service by finding the cause of the lycanthropy that plagued their tribe and eliminating it, revealing their former Keeper Zathrian as the source of the curse. Anwen understood why Zathrian brought the curse onto the miserable _shemlens_, but hiding his involvement brought disgrace onto himself and the clan. However, the honorable actions of one human did not erase all the transgressions they levied on the elves in the ancient and more recent past. Hadyn had a less hostile view of humans, thanks to the actions of the Grey Wardens, but it would be some time before he began trusting humans in general.

Anwen scoffed yet again at the humans trudging along behind her, their steps clumsy through the forest. She thought of how short sighted and quickly ignorant the humans were after the war that freed most of Thedas from the oppression of the Tevinter magisters. Their Chantry had lauded the help of Shartan and the elves during the war, writing an entire canticle in their Chant of Light dedicated to his bravery and leadership. Then in quick succession, their Chantry crushed the elves when they sought to rebuild their ancient society and worship their own gods. The Chantry wanted _their _ways propagated, not the pagan views of an ancient, learned society. Keeping the elves ignorant would keep them submissive. The Dalish suffered to this day under the boot of the humans and their Chantry, but Anwen believed their suffering only made them stronger and more resilient, more determined to keep their old ways alive in spite of the trials forced upon them.

As the density of the trees grew, telltale signs of corruption began to appear as a dark, tarry substance that clung to tree trunks and hung from overhead branches in sickly tendrils. The tendrils seemed to reach out for them as they passed, almost if a rudimentary intelligence or instinct compelled them to corrupt the life around them. The corruption pulled on the blood of the Grey Wardens, a constant buzz in their minds and the burn like a fever in their veins.

Anwen and Hadyn stopped for a moment to examine a rune carved into the trunk of a large oak tree next to a bubbling creek, lifting their heads after a moment and turning back to Nathaniel and Cris. "This is a rune signifying the border of _our _hunting grounds," Anwen explained, not bothering to hide her obvious contempt for the humans she spoke to. "Would you like to draw this on your map like a child so that you don't get lost?"

Nathaniel ignored the latest barb, but he would be lying if he told himself that Anwen's sour attitude did not irritate him. She may be a talented and adept scout, but her attitude left much to be desired. "In which direction does the heaviest concentrations of corruption lie?" he asked, noting the tree with the rune on his map. Hadyn motioned to the east. "If we follow this creek to the east, the dark matter will become more prevalent."

"Have you run across any darkspawn?" Sigrun said, pulling her attention away from the trees around them. She had never seen a forest such as this in her time on the surface; this made the small amounts of forest around Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine look like nothing but a tiny copse of saplings. She ran her fingers across the bark of another oak tree, fascinated by the rough feel of the surface, the crackling sound of the previous autumn's leaves on the ground beneath her feet. Looking up, her eyes skimmed the branches for as high as she could see; she wondered for a moment what it must be like for a bird to sit on one of the upper branches, looking down onto the world below. She turned as Oghren leaned close and whispered into her ear. "It's a poet tree. Get it? Poetry?" Sigrun scoffed, slapping at his arm and rolling her eyes in exasperation as Oghren chortled next to her.

"We have encountered a few small bands," Anwen nodded, her voice less harsh in speaking to Sigrun that to the humans. "The farther east you travel, the thicker this foulness becomes."

Nathaniel shared a look between Maverlies and Cris, both of whom looked a bit uneasy at the sight of the black tendrils of corruption that hung in the trees around them. "Maverlies, make sure your men thoroughly clean themselves and their equipment when we make camp. Don't touch any of the corruption if you can absolutely help it; let the Wardens…"

The taint flared to life around them, giving little notice before a large band of darkspawn appeared amongst the thick trees and underbrush, bellowing war cries and brandishing their crude weapons. "To arms!" Nathaniel shouted, quickly pulling his bow and firing arrows at the approaching creatures. Sigrun and Oghren quickly produced their weapons and stood at the forefront of the party, charging at the darkspawn as they drew close. Nathaniel dropped back as the feel of magical energies began to swirl around them; Jowan was holding his staff aloft, a dark stream of energy flowing from the crystal focus at the tip to envelop the darkspawn in a death hex. He quickly switched his chant, calling forth a cloud of black death that drifted from his staff to envelop the darkspawn at the back of the charging mass. Their bloodcurdling screams filled the air as a number of the creatures fell to the ground, writhing and clawing at themselves in their death throes.

"Let's see what those darkspawn innards look like!" Oghren shouted, swinging his great axe and cleaving a charging hurlock in two before it could rush past him to threaten Jowan or the archers. A second hurlock was closing in on Oghren fast; before he could bring his axe around for another swing, he heard the hiss of arrows flying through the air a split second before they buried themselves into the hurlock's eye and throat, the creature falling to the ground with a strangled gurgle. Oghren turned and saw the elven twins firing arrows in unison, grimaces of concentration on their pale, lithe features as they picked and dispatched their targets.

Several genlocks attempted to flank the Grey Wardens and approach from the side. They engaged a small group of the Sergeant's lightly armed scouts, cutting two of them down before anyone could react. With an anguished cry, Maverlies swung her shield, connecting with an approaching hurlock and knocking it to the ground before she thrust her blade through its heart.

"_Ma halam!"_ Anwen cried out, firing her arrows in rapid succession as the darkspawn approached her and Hadyn. Dropping his bow, Hadyn reached toward the scabbard at his side, pulling his ironbark sword from its sheath and placing himself between Anwen and the approaching darkspawn, brandishing the weapon threateningly. "_Ar tu na'lin emma mi," _he snarled, swinging the blade at a genlock that rushed him. The blade bit into the flesh of the darkspawn's throat, blackened blood spurting out of the creature's neck as it fell forward and died. A second genlock was immediately behind the first, launching itself at Hadyn with a wicked shortsword in its hand. Hadyn moved to dodge the oncoming sword, but was hit with a glancing blow from the blade, a long, deep gash appearing on the elf's arm and dripping blood onto the leaves below him.

"Hadyn!" Anwen cried, launching an arrow at the genlock that injured her brother. The arrow found purchase in the creature's eye, knocking it backwards from the force of the blow. Nathaniel heard the agonized shout from the elf and quickly turned, running toward the elves who were near to being overrun with darkspawn. Planting his feet, arrows flew furiously from his bow, disabling several of the darkspawn who were closing fast. Several were able to make it to the elves and grabbed Anwen, preparing to drag her off into the depths of the earth. Anwen screamed elven curses at the darkspawn, thrashing for her very life as they tried to subdue her and carry her off. Nathaniel dropped his bow in favor of his wicked long daggers, quickly launching himself at one of the hurlocks grasping Anwen's leg. Nathaniel's daggers buried themselves into the hurlock's neck and he twisted both as they found purchase. The hurlock was dead before it hit the ground, releasing Anwen's leg as she fell free. The elf scampered away on all fours, looking desperately for a weapon to defend herself with as a second darkspawn loomed overhead. She found Nathaniel's discarded bow and snatched it up, nocking an arrow and letting it fly to land in the chest of the genlock that rushed toward her.

The screeching and bellowing of darkspawn at last began to fade. Jowan's shouted chants could be clearly heard above the sounds of battle. Oghren's taunts and grunts of effort and Sigrun's cheers of success carried to the farthest corners of the battle. Nathaniel looked up from the body of the darkspawn he had driven to the ground with his blades; a streak of blood crossed his face and his hair had come unbound from the tie that held it back. He stood, wiping his blades before sheathing them and surveying the battlefield. Corpses lay strewn about, mostly darkspawn but several of Maverlies's men had been lost in the battle. Jowan was crouched near one of them, gently closing the man's lifeless eyes with his fingers. Nathaniel sighed wearily; the loss of the scouts would weigh on him for some time. The feel of the corruption around them made it hard to distinguish what was the corruption itself and what could be actual darkspawn; great vigilance would be the rule until they returned to the relative safety of the Dalish camp.

Jowan moved toward where Hadyn was resting on the ground, his arm being tended to by Anwen. Both were splashed with blood, whether that of themselves or darkspawn, Jowan was not entirely sure. She had pulled a length of cloth from her pack and began to put some sort of balm on it. Jowan crouched down next to the elves, earning a scowl from the prickly Anwen. "Back off, _shemlen_," she snarled at Jowan, covering Hadyn's wounded arm with her hand.

"I'm trained in the healing arts," Jowan spoke softly, seeking to calm the agitated elf. "If you'll let me look at the wound, I can likely heal it right away." As he spoke, Jowan felt something strange from Hadyn, something he could not quite put his finger on. Hadyn looked to be in considerable pain and discomfort, though from what Jowan could see from the wound, it did not appear to be too serious, nothing a basic healing spell could not handle. Perhaps it was the aftereffects of battle; Jowan was still woefully inexperienced in battle compared to the other Grey Wardens and what he was feeling could simply be the emotional aftermath. He reached out toward the elf, seeking to examine the gash on his arm. Anwen pulled a small dagger from her boot, holding it threateningly between herself and Jowan. "I said back off, _shemlen_. You'll not touch him."

Nathaniel heard the exchange from where he stood not far away, quickly moving toward Jowan as Anwen brandished her dagger menacingly. "Anwen, put the dagger away," Nathaniel growled, holding the elf's own intent stare with one of his own. "Jowan is assessing everyone's injuries. Let him look at it."

"Anwen, it's all right," Hadyn said grimacing as Anwen roughly wrapped the cloth around the wound. "Let the mage examine at it."

"No," Anwen snarled, tying the cloth around Hadyn's arm and glaring at her brother. 'No _shemlen_ is going to touch you or cast their spells on you. Let our people treat you."

Jowan held a pleading hand out to Anwen. "We need to get this wound healed, Anwen. Not only is there danger of infection, but there's the taint to think about. Open wounds just invite danger and are a risk we can't afford to take."

"Jowan is right, Anwen," Nathaniel said, his gaze hard and uncompromising. "We can't have anyone fall victim to the taint. It's too dangerous. Let Jowan look at Hadyn's wound."

"Creators' mercy, what part of _'no'_ do you _shemlens_ not understand?" Anwen spat angrily, tucking the ends of the makeshift bandage underneath the bulk of the dressing. She stood, glaring up at both Nathaniel and Jowan with contempt. "I have used a healing balm that the Dalish have utilized for generations. It will heal his wound just as well as your magic."

Anwen helped Hadyn to his feet and pulled him away from the insufferable _shemlens_, taking care to not jostle the crude bandage on his arm that even now was unable to completely hide the dark streaks that snaked away from the wound beneath.

Nathaniel watched the twins move off before he turned to where the other Grey Wardens stood nearby, beckoning them over for a quick conference. He hunkered down, motioning for the other Wardens to join him. "I can feel that we are close to the heart of the corruption; it can't be more than a couple of hours walk away."

"I agree," Sigrun nodded emphatically, flicking a piece of darkspawn gore off her glove with a look of revulsion on her face. No matter how often and for how long she fought the darkspawn, they would always be disgusting, especially when they were in pieces and caked onto her armor. "I can tell by the thickness of the corruption; I saw it a lot in the Deep Roads. Wherever this nastiness is coming from, it can't be far away."

Jowan jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the easterly direction behind him. "The buzzing in my brain seems to be coming strongest from that area. Should we leave the others here and go look? The Commander needs to know where this breach is."

Turning his head toward the east, Nathaniel closed his eyes and concentrated. The maddening pull on his tainted blood did seem to be strongest from that way, a dull ache settling behind his eyes as he concentrated on the foulness around them. He nodded slowly, opening his eyes to regard his fellow Wardens. "We'll have to make this trip fast. We can't take the horses into the heart of the corruption; they would never survive. It will have to be done on foot."

"Anders did teach me a spell of haste," Jowan said, nervously fingering the staff he still held in his hand. "It's not very strong and won't work for long, but it should help us get there faster. It doesn't require much mana, so I should be able to cast it as often as we need, provided I don't have to cast too many other spells in the meantime."

"Good," Nathaniel nodded, checking his pack to see if and how many lyrium flasks he had with him; several were in the pouch, which he removed and handed to Jowan before turning his gaze to Sigrun. "I need you to stay with the camp, Sigrun, and warn the others if any darkspawn approach," he began, watching as a brief look of disappointment crossed her face. Nathaniel grinned, placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "Don't worry; we'll leave plenty of darkspawn for you to kill."

With a scoff, Sigrun returned Nathaniel's smile. "Don't trouble yourself on my account; you won't hurt my feelings if you kill them all. Picking pieces of them out of my armor is just nasty."

With another nod, Nathaniel turned his gaze to Jowan and Oghren. "The two of you will come with me. Jowan; find all the lyrium you can between us and the sergeant's men. I'd rather we have too much lyrium than too little. We need to hurry and find this breach, then get back to the Dalish camp."

"On it," the mage replied, quickly bounding off to find his pack and take inventory. Nathaniel turned to Oghren. "We'll need your two handed axe to cleave a path through the darkspawn. Up for a challenge?"

"Does a whore work on her back?" Oghren snorted, laughing at his own crude humor as Sigrun and Nathaniel rolled their eyes. "So long as there are darkspawn to kill, no problem."

"Then let's be off," Nathaniel said, standing and heading toward Maverlies to tell her of their plans.

* * *

"The Warden Commander will see you when she is ready for you, Revered Mother, and not before," Loghain stated coolly, standing before the chair where Lhiannon would sit when she held court in this very room. The Revered Mother of Amaranthine, Mara, and the Grand Cleric of Ferelden, Talitha, both stood before Loghain with scowls on their faces. They had demanded to see Lhiannon the moment they arrived in the halls of Vigil's Keep and were not amused to be kept waiting. Flanking them were four templars, all in full armor and helmets with their hands near the hilts of their swords. Several other templars waited outside with their grand carriage.

Anders had quickly gathered Leliana and Zevran, who stood about the audience chamber watching the exchange between Loghain and the representatives of the Chantry warily. Anders and Varel flanked Loghain while they waited for Lhiannon to arrive. Loghain did not need their protection per se, but he was glad to see the snarls both women gave Anders as he took his place at Loghain's side, his robes impeccably pressed and the largest, most grand magical staff he owned strapped proudly to his back. Not to be outdone, Anders gave both women a wide smile and bow; sarcastically, of course, but the women did not need to know that.

"When the Grand Cleric demands and audience, _Warden_, she is not to be kept waiting," the Revered Mother said, giving Loghain an icy stare. "I wish to conclude my business here and return to Amaranthine as soon as possible."

The Grand Cleric nodded her agreement, her nose wrinkling in disgust as her gaze wandered between Loghain and Anders. "As I need to return to my duties in Denerim. Too much time has been spent on this matter."

"And what matter might that be?" Loghain asked, his arms crossing over his breastplate. He heard Anders scoff lightly from beside him. "Oh, no doubt it has to do with the Chant of Light. Or how mages are to be feared and kept under the 'watchful eye' of the templars. Take your pick," Anders said, looking at the priests and templars warily. "The Chantry won't be happy until all mages are either dead, bred out of existence, or tranquil."

"You will watch your tongue, mage," one of the templars growled from behind his full helmet, his voice slightly muffled but angry nonetheless. "The Chantry can still take you into custody for being an escaped apostate. Chantry law supersedes the will of the Grey Wardens."

"Now that's an argument I've heard before."

Loghain turned to see Lhiannon enter the audience chamber dressed in her full Warden Commander armor and Spellweaver belted to her side. She calmly entered the chamber, taking a place between Loghain and Anders. "I can assure you, templar, that you will do no such thing. Not only will I nor the Grey Wardens stand for it, but neither will the King and Queen." Moving her attention away from the templar, Lhiannon curtly nodded to each priest in turn. "Your Grace," she nodded to the Grand Cleric before turning to the Revered Mother. "Your Reverence. What can I do for you both?"

"Her Grace and I have just returned from an urgent meeting with Divine Justinia V at the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux," Revered Mother Mara began, her tone as icy as the glare she was currently receiving from Loghain. "It is no secret that the Chantry in Amaranthine is not pleased with the situation here."

"And what situation would that be?" Lhiannon asked, standing straight with her hands clasped behind her back. She had a very good idea of what 'situation' the Revered Mother was discussing, but Lhiannon wanted to hear it directly from the priest's mouth.

"The Maker sent the darkspawn to attack this arling because of you, Arlessa," Mara began, pointing her finger accusingly at Lhiannon. "You are a mage with a noble title and a position of authority over others, which is against the Maker's teachings."

Anders scoffed. "Ah yes, here it is. 'Magic is to serve and never rule.' How predictable." The templars behind the two priests took a menacing step forward, their eyes glaring at Anders through the slits of their helmets.

Holding a hand up, Lhiannon turned her attention back to the priest. "I will remind both Your Grace and Your Reverence that we have just suffered through a Blight. The death of the archdemon did not automatically destroy all the remaining vestiges of the Blight. Darkspawn still roam the countryside. In fact, we will be preparing to leave soon and find where the archdemon Urthemiel came to the surface; a scouting party is already searching an area we believe the breach occurred. Sealing the breach in the earth will prevent the darkspawn from coming to the surface again and since that breach draws the surface darkspawn like a moth to flame, we will be able to cleanse the surface of a great many more." Lhiannon leaned forward, a pert, knowing expression on her face as the winked at both women. "We all know that the darkspawn weren't sent by the Maker; they are still here and the Grey Wardens will drive the last of them back to ground."

"Surely the resurgence of the darkspawn, especially in this arling, is testament to the fact that the Maker _did indeed_ send these creatures," the Grand Cleric stated. "I can see no other reason why other than He disapproves of your status as Arlessa."

"Magic must serve and never rule," the Revered Mother added, looking pointedly at Lhiannon. "One of the very basic tenants set forth by the Maker and Andraste."

"I am _serving_ the people of this arling as their Warden Commander and Arlessa," Lhiannon growled, pointing behind her toward where the city of Amaranthine lay to the north. "I _serve_ these people and I will see right by them in all matters in which they are affected. I even gave of my own funds to help rebuild Amaranthine after the Mother's army attacked! I opened my home to the refugees! I couldn't have just let the people fend for themselves. If I were the power hungry mage and magister that you portray me to be, I would not have done such things."

"It matters not," the Grand Cleric said, slashing her hand through the air for emphasis. "You, Arlessa, are still in a position of rule, and _that_ is against the Maker's teachings."

It did not escape Loghain's notice that the Revered Mother and Grand Cleric were focusing on Lhiannon's secondary title of Arlessa rather than her formal, and primary, title of Warden Commander. Best to remind them of such. "The _Warden Commander_ serves this arling at the pleasure of the Crown," Loghain said, standing tall and allowing his arrogance and irritation ring clear in his voice. "Should you have an issue with her assignment, I suggest you take it to them. Though I assure you, they will not have any other serve in the Commander's stead." Loghain took a step forward, his icy blue glare landing on each priest in turn and an accusatory finger pointing to the Grand Cleric. "Need _you_ be reminded that she is the one that united Ferelden at the Landsmeet and destroyed the archdemon? You were the one, after all, who suggested the Commander and I duel to settle our differences." Loghain paused for a moment, watching the Grand Cleric's face color with growing anger before pressing his point further. "You certainly did not raise any objections to her then and for you to do so now is ridiculous. I seem to remember the Chantry giving her high praise for defeating me at the Landsmeet and subsequently ending the Blight."

"And it was a glorious day when the archdemon fell; I concur that the Arlessa saved many lives that day," the Grand Cleric granted, her voice hard. "However, that does not justify putting a _mage_ in a position of ruling over others! It is against the teachings of the Chantry and frightfully reminiscent of the old Tevinter Imperium!"

Lhiannon scoffed and was ready to make a retort, but Anders quickly responded first. "The teachings of the Chantry, you say? From what I see, the Chantry takes Andraste's teachings and twists them as they see fit…or eliminates them all together!" Lhiannon watched as a dark scowl crossed their features as Anders continued. "Yes, the Canticle of Shartan? He and the elves joined with Andraste when they marched on Tevinter, but since the Exalted March against them, Shartan's words were stricken. Conveniently. No one wants the elves to remember how pivotal they were to Andraste's cause. When they tried to recapture the past that was stolen from them, the Chantry sought to exterminate them."

"What you speak of is blasphemy," Mara snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Anders. "How typical for a mage to deny the Maker's teachings."

"Speaking of blasphemy, what have you to say about assassins who claim they received their orders from the Grand Cathedral?" Anders spoke again, glaring angrily at the priests. Loghain turned to Anders, holding a hand up to still the mage's anger before he turned his icy glare back onto the priest. "The Warden Commander was recently attacked by a zealot claiming he received his orders from the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux." Loghain paused for a moment to let his words sink in. The Grand Cleric and Revered Mother exchanged a glance with each other, eyes wide and heads shaking in disbelief. "Would you care to shed some light on that?" Loghain asked, the ice in his words matching the ice in his glare.

"That cannot be," the Grand Cleric retorted angrily. "The Chantry does not order assassinations or executions."

"Tell that to the templars," Anders groused from Lhiannon's side, earning a quiet snarl from one of the nearby templars.

"Whether you believe it or not," Loghain growled at the Grand Cleric, "it has happened. In fact, the very weapon he used was a dagger that is _only_ found in the Grand Cathedral."

"The Dagger of the Faithful?" the Grand Cleric asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "They never leave the Grand Cathedral. What you speak of is impossible."

"I can assure you that it's not," Lhiannon scoffed, motioning for Varel to come forward with the small pack he held in his hands. Opening the pack, he pulled out an object wrapped in a cloth. As he revealed the dagger, both the Grand Cleric and Revered Mother gasped in shock. A murmur went through the four templars standing behind them. "Would anyone care to explain this and how it found its way into my chest?" Lhiannon asked, holding a hand out to indicate the weapon that still sent shivers of revulsion down her spine and plagued her dreams on a constant basis.

"Where did you get that dagger?" one of the templars asked angrily, marching forward to try and snatch the dagger from Varel's hands. Loghain took a half step to the side, interspersing his considerable bulk between the seneschal and the angry templar, placing his hand most conspicuously on his sword.

"Stand down, templar," Loghain growled, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword. "I take it by your reaction that you have indeed seen a weapon like this before."

"These daggers never leave the Grand Cathedral. Who would have taken this?"

"We have a good idea of just that," Lhiannon said, crossing her arms over her breastplate. "You'll understand, of course, if we do not divulge more than that as the investigation is still continuing."

Leliana quietly stepped forward and stood before the two priests, bowing her head respectfully to each one. "Your Reverence. Your Grace. Please consider this: why would the Maker send the Warden Commander to defeat the darkspawn and turn back the Blight only to punish her and Amaranthine after she was made Arlessa in recognition and thanks for her achievements? This is the Maker's will for her; she can deny it no more than you can deny the path the Maker has set _you_ on."

"Preposterous; she cannot rule this arling and expect the Maker to turn a blind eye," Grand Cleric Talitha said, standing tall and looking Lhiannon directly in the eye. "In the name of and in the sight of the Maker, I demand that you renounce your titles of Arlessa and Warden Commander _immediately_."

* * *

_More Dalish translations for you:_

_Ma halam - You're finished _

_Ar tu na'lin emma mi - I'll see your blood on my blade_

_I couldn't find names of the Grand Cleric and Revered Mother in my research, so I just made them up. If I flubbed them up, someone let me know so I can fix them. :)_

_Worried that Lhi didn't argue with those two busybodies enough? She'll be spitting daggers soon. I also think she was enjoying watching Anders make the priests squirm a bit.  
_

_Kudos and many thanks to reviewers Dante Alighieri, Arsinoe, JackOfBladesX, sammi1318, Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, Gene Dark, and Tyanilth. You rock!  
_


	16. The Maker's Path

For a brief moment, nothing was said in the audience hall of Vigil's Keep after the Grand Cleric's demand that Lhiannon renounce her titles of Arlessa and Warden Commander. She glared at the Grand Cleric, angry beyond words at the inference that she was unworthy to be Arlessa and Warden Commander simply because she could cast spells.

It was the typical Chantry story; they and the templars saw mages as dangerous, outside the norms of society, and less than human because of their talents. Their _Maker_ _given_ talents. Lhiannon felt her anger bubbling to the surface, threatening to spill over and bring indignant fire upon the priests of the Chantry before her. As she stilled her racing mind and prepared a retort, Loghain moved beside her, scoffing loudly as a quiet murmur passed through the Grey Wardens. "You _demand?_ Take it up with the Crown."

Lhiannon held a hand out, attempting to stay Loghain's anger before it could burn within him any further...and to give her a chance to vent her own anger. Loghain turned to look at Lhiannon and saw the firm plea in her eyes; he held back, but only just. Turning her gaze back to the Grand Cleric, Lhiannon glared at her for several long moments before she spoke, her voice dark and words indignant. "You can take your demand and choke on it. I will not shirk the duty placed on me by King Alistair and Queen Anora. I will not shirk the duty that I have been entrusted with to watch over and protect the Arling of Amaranthine and its people. And I _will not_ shirk my duty to the Grey Wardens. I firmly believe that this is the path the Maker has set me on, and neither I, nor you, can take me from this path."

"Who are you to speak of the Maker?" the Revered Mother snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Lhiannon. "You are a mage; what do you understand of the Maker's teachings?"

"Enough," Lhiannon snarled, slashing her hand through the air in emphasis. "I have had _enough_ of you telling me about what I do and do not know about the Maker. I _know_ that this is the path He has set me on, and I will follow it until such time as He tells me I am finished. I have had _enough_ of you questioning my motives and beliefs for the sole reason that I am a mage. It was _the Maker _who created me so and gave me these talents. I am no less a human than _you. I _am one of the Maker's children! _Mages _are also the Maker's children!"

"So, then you defy the will of the Maker?" The Grand Cleric snorted. "He shall certainly send you to oblivion and the Void for such defiance!"

"The Maker made me such and is therefore under no preconceived notions about me or my actions," Lhiannon argued, her exasperation and indignation growing with each passing moment. "He set me on this path and I seriously doubt He is surprised by my choices. If He wanted me on a different path, He would have put me there in the first place! It's His will and directive I shall follow, _not your personal will._"

Taking a step forward, Anders positioned himself beside Lhiannon once more, showing his support for her. "You would strip the Commander of her duties simply because she is a mage? If she had no magical talents, _Maker given talents_, you wouldn't even _be_ here! Is this the true goal of the Chantry? Not to spread the word of Andraste and the Maker across the world, but to suppress and punish all mages for the actions of a few magisters of ancient history? To use your templar _army_ to suppress and subjugate an entire class of people and spread the notion that we are somehow worth less than others because of our talents?"

One of the templars took several menacing steps forward. "Have a care, mage," the woman behind the full helmet growled. "This is the Grand Cleric of Ferelden you address."

"I don't care if she were the Divine herself!"

Ignoring Anders' outburst, the Grand Cleric returned her icy glare to Lhiannon. "It is the will of the Divine that you step down as Arlessa and Warden Commander. It is also the will of the Divine that we investigate the disappearance of a templar sent to apprehend this, _troublesome,_ mage."

"Oh, so now the will of the _Divine _supersedes the will of the Maker _and_ the Crown?" Anders growled. Lhiannon placed a gentle hand on Anders' back, whispering "step back" toward his ear. Anders turned to look at Lhiannon over his shoulder and saw her solemn nod. With a last snarl in the direction of the Grand Cleric and Revered Mother, Anders stepped back behind Lhiannon, arms crossed over his chest in angry defiance.

"We can tell you what happened with Templar Rylock," Lhiannon began, standing tall with her hands clasped behind her back. "Rylock tried to subvert the Right of Conscription and arrest Anders. The King himself allowed Anders' conscription, but Rylock refused to acknowledge it. She later lured Anders, as well as myself and Wardens Loghain and Nathaniel Howe, to an abandoned warehouse in Amaranthine."

Her eyes narrowing, the Grand Cleric looked at Lhiannon and Anders suspiciously. "What then?"

Lhiannon turned to Loghain, tilting her head toward the Chantry mothers before them. She knew that if she told the story, the Chantry mothers would likely accuse her of collaborating with Anders to kill Rylock; she was a mage, after all, and it was clear neither the Grand Cleric or Revered Mother trusted or believed a word that came from her mouth, Hero of Ferelden or not. It would be best if the story came from not only a Warden, but the Teyrn of Gwaren himself. "_Teyrn_ Loghain," Lhiannon began, giving slight emphasis to the title, knowing that Loghain would catch it, "would you mind telling Her Grace and Her Reverence of the circumstances regarding Templar Rylock's plan?"

Loghain tilted his head in acknowledgment to Lhiannon, thinking it rather pert of her to have him relay the story of Rylock's deception and death. The Chantry ninnies may take the story in a completely different context if he told it, as he was not only _not _a mage, but was nothing less than the Teyrn of Gwaren, father to the Queen of Ferelden, grandfather of the coming heir to the line of Calenhad; the line that that treacherous harpy Mother Bronach 'endorsed' for the throne by declaring Maric sent by the Maker to save Ferelden. Loghain scoffed, remembering that the only reason the bitch endorsed Maric was because she saw which way the wind was blowing and sought to latch on to his coattails to preserve her own hide. _Typical Chantry nonsense_.

"Of course, Commander," he nodded, turning toward the priests and imparting all the arrogance of his position into his voice and posture. "An elven woman named Namaya approached Warden Anders in the city of Amaranthine, telling him that a cache of phylacteries, including his own, was housed in an abandoned warehouse within the city. We found that revelation curious, as the Chantry does not divulge to anyone other than their innermost circle the location of phylacteries and whose are stored there. When we arrived, Templar Rylock was at the abandoned warehouse with three other templars and tried to take matters into her own hands and arrest Warden Anders once again. It was explained to her, yet again, that Anders was a Grey Warden and therefore would remain so per the treaties signed by the Grey Wardens and the nations of Thedas. She and her accomplices chose to attack and were summarily defeated." Loghain's eyes narrowed, his icy glare moving from the Revered Mother to the Grand Cleric. "In reality, it was Rylock herself who violated the law by not only trying to subvert a legitimate treaty between the Grey Wardens and the Kingdom of Ferelden, but to conspire against and attack the Grey Wardens as well as defy a directive from King Alistair. Had Rylock and her accomplices survived, they would have faced justice not only in the court of the arling of Amaranthine, but they also would have faced justice in _my_ court in Gwaren, since I was also a target of their attack. Even templars must uphold the laws of Ferelden, wouldn't you agree?"

As Loghain's speech continued, Lhiannon watched out of the corner of her eye as both the Revered Mother and Grand Cleric's faces began to turn various shades of red and pink, their anger and frustration clearly evident. "So templar Rylock is dead then? Maker rest her faithful soul." The Grand Cleric, Revered Mother, and the templars all bowed their head in silent prayer for a moment before the Grand Cleric raised her head again, eyes filled with a righteous fury. "The Chantry follows the laws of the Maker, not the laws of men," the Grand Cleric snarled. "The templars act within the jurisdiction of the Chantry to protect the faithful from fugitive mages and non-believers. Rest assured that this investigation is not over."

Lhiannon saw Anders start to move forward again and held a hand out to stop him; he did, but only just, a sneer crossing his face as the Grand Cleric spoke. Lhiannon heard Loghain scoff from her other side. "And Chantry law allows for templars to go rogue and try to eliminate mages themselves?" Loghain asked. "You allow them to take the law into their own hands, flagrantly ignoring the laws of Ferelden? Perhaps you are still angry over King Alistair's conscription and sought to send him a message?"

"Anders was not a fugitive, as you call it," Lhiannon said quietly. "He is a Grey Warden and he acts in the interests of the Grey Wardens, the Arling of Amaranthine, and the Kingdom of Ferelden. He was with me, his Commander, and he was forced to defend himself from a rogue templar who chose not to recognize the Right of Conscription. That hardly makes Anders a fugitive; if anyone was a criminal and acting as such, it was Rylock."

"Rylock lured and attacked us, seeking to kill _all of us,_ including two individuals who were _not_ mages. Need I remind you that I am still the Teyrn of Gwaren and do not have magical aptitude?" Loghain said calmly, his voice cool, not betraying the anger that Lhiannon could feel simmering within him. "It is my understanding that templars do not kill non mages, but perhaps I am mistaken."

Throwing up her hands, the Grand Cleric turned to the Revered Mother. "We waste our breath talking to these mages and their collaborators. It is clear that the Arlessa will not obey the directive of the Divine and the Maker and give up her positions of rule. We will have to consult with the Divine on what our next steps will be regarding the Arlessa, the Crown of Ferelden, and the death of templar Rylock."

"_I_ can tell you what your next steps will be," Loghain growled, walking toward the priests and templars and pointing toward the door behind them. "_Your_ next steps will be out of this hall and back to where you belong. If you have issue with the Warden Commander and her assignment, take it up with the Crown."

The Revered Mother made to turn and leave with a disgusted look on her face, but then quickly turned back to look at Loghain. "It is my understanding that you and the Arlessa are to be married soon."

Lhiannon watched warily as Loghain's eyes narrowed at the Revered Mother, an icy, penetrating glare resting on the woman's face. She flinched and took an involuntary step back from the imposing Teyrn. "And what of it?" Loghain growled, his voice low and quiet, yet still carrying to the corners of the hall.

"The Chantry will neither sanction nor bless such a union," the Revered Mother said, holding her chin up in haughty defiance as she attempted to stare Loghain down. She held his withering glare for only a moment before looking down and away.

"_What?"_ Lhiannon growled, marching forward with fists clenched to stand at Loghain's side and glare at the Revered Mother, the templars closing in around them and putting their hands on their weapons menacingly. "There is no law that forbids mages from marriage!"

"There should be," Lhiannon heard one of the templars mutter under their breath; she turned and gave the green eyes behind the templar helmet a cold stare. The green eyes quickly found something else to look at.

"Oh yes, because anyone who isn't a perfect little Andrastian like you needs to be subjugated or eliminated," Lhiannon snarled at the templar, her anger and venom beginning to crack through her façade .

"While there is no express rule forbidding it, _I_ will not sanction it," the Grand Cleric stated, her glare passing between both Lhiannon and Loghain. "Your union will not be approved by the Chantry. You would have to petition the issue to the Divine, but after today's meeting, I highly doubt she would acquiesce. If you were to relinquish your titles as Arlessa and Warden Commander as a show of good faith and contrition, the Divine _may_ be persuaded to sanction your marriage."

Lhiannon felt her stomach turn inside her and hot, angry tears burned at the back of her eyes. She quashed them, refusing to let the Revered Mother or Grand Cleric see them. Their narrow minds and irrational fear would not stop her from marrying the man she loved, no matter what they said. She knew their decision was purely blackmail; the Chantry was known to approve marriages for mages, usually as a reward and incentive for 'good behavior' if they knew the mage was in love. The mages that toed the Chantry line and did not cause waves with the priests or templars were most often the ones who had marriages approved. Lhiannon knew that she did neither of those in the Chantry's eyes, nor did she have any desire to do so.

Loghain turned to Lhiannon, his lips lowering to her ear as he spoke softly into it. "Do not compromise your beliefs; as far as I am concerned, we are already married in the Maker's eyes. This is simple blackmail on their part." Loghain returned his icy glare to the Revered Mother and Grand Cleric, slashing his hand through the air in dismissal. "Your approval or disapproval does not change matters between the Warden Commander and myself. If our marriage is simply a public declaration of devotion, so be it."

"The Chantry would not recognize such a union. It would be as if the marriage never existed in the eyes of the Maker. Perhaps you should speak to the Arlessa and convince her to take the right path."

Lhiannon had heard enough. _"Take your demands and get out of my hall," _she growled, her voice low and menacing. She was angry to the point where she did not trust herself to speak any further without outright cursing both the Grand Cleric and Revered Mother for the pathetic fear mongers she knew them to be. They would deny her a blessing of the Maker simply because she was a mage, performing the act entrusted to her by the Crown and the Maker Himself. They would deny her the blessing of marriage because she was a mage that did not toe the Chantry line, but chose to challenge their superstitious and ridiculous beliefs that all mages were to be feared. _Maker's breath, I hardly use magic outside of battle any longer! _She clenched her jaw and bit her tongue, fearful that if she opened her mouth to speak further, she would say something that she may later regret. Maybe.

Varel, the blessing that he was, calmly stepped forward and nodded politely to both priests. "Your Reverence. Your Grace. Allow me to escort you to your carriage. Can I procure any supplies for you for your trip home?" The priests marched toward the door with Varel and the templars following close behind. Lhiannon stood absolutely still until she heard the banging of the outer doors behind Varel and the Chantry guests before she loosened her tongue.

"I cannot _believe_ they would be so closed minded and inflexible!" Lhiannon raged, pointing toward the door emphatically while her glared flicked between the Grey Wardens. "I didn't _ask_ or _petition _to be made Arlessa or Commander of the Grey Wardens; that was a directive of the Crown! It was an honor to be named so and I _will not_ shirk this duty just because they say I must! If I were not a mage, this wouldn't even _be_ an issue! And then for them to try and blackmail me makes my stomach turn! I didn't realize the priests taught _that _in the Chantry!"

Anders placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head at Lhiannon's outburst. "You know that while some templars and priests of the Chantry are more open minded and lenient with mages, they never rise high in the hierarchy because of those beliefs. It doesn't surprise me that they came here with such a demand."

"They fear Amaranthine will be come a smaller version of the Tevinter Imperium," Leliana said quietly. "If you can hold a noble title here, it gives hope to mages elsewhere and may embolden them to take steps to shake off the yoke of the Chantry."

"Would shaking off the yoke be so bad?" Anders asked, throwing his hands up in the air. "Not all mages are raging maleficars or magisters! They condemn all of us to the same fate because of a few bad apples!"

"I believe we have made enemies out of the Revered Mother and Grand Cleric," Loghain said as the echo of the banging door finally faded away.

"They had decided long ago that they were my, and our, enemies, Loghain," Lhiannon growled. "I did not wish to be their enemy; however, they are both closed minded. All they saw was a mage, not a human who deserves the same treatment as they do. They see you as a collaborator, choosing a mage over 'normal' people."

Zevran rubbed his chin in thought. "Couldn't you just petition the King and Queen? Wouldn't they recognize your marriage?"

"They could, but I wouldn't want them to risk the ire of the Chantry either," Lhiannon said, sighing heavily as she pulled a gauntlet off and rubbed her forehead, wincing at the ache there. There was no way she wanted the Chantry to win this battle; she and Loghain had come too far to be denied this one blessing that they so rightfully deserved, but she had to think of the implications for the Crown. Opposing the Chantry's decrees or position openly had to be done carefully; after all, they had an army they could call upon to impose their will if they chose to do so, though that was not without risk to them as well. Lhiannon felt as if matters were teetering precariously on a precipice, a single nudge the only thing needed to upset the delicate balance. "Alistair was desperately unhappy with his life in training to be a templar; he has a rather jaded view of the Chantry. He could openly provoke them by recognizing our marriage outside the Chantry."

"What if they recognized it privately?" Anders asked, raising his brows and a cheeky look passing over his face. "The Chantry will likely expect you and Loghain to publicly declare your devotion and vows to each other regardless of their approval. Ferelden isn't a theocracy, after all."

Loghain nodded slowly, rubbing his chin in thought. "It is a possibility," he said, looking toward Lhiannon, who still looked like she wanted to breathe fire. "A marriage is little different than any other contract. Papers would be drawn up outlining the arrangement in any case; even papers that would change your name can be drawn up and ratified by the Crown."

"It's a course worth considering, but keeping the agreement private likely won't last. I think the Chantry will find out, no matter what we do. However, they are not the supreme law of the land, and to be honest, I really don't care to have their blessing at this point," Lhiannon admitted, nodding her head. "In any case, I'm sure the King and Queen will hear of this incident soon enough if those two get their way."

* * *

The Grey Wardens covered a significant amount of ground in a short time, thanks to the haste spells cast by Jowan as they traveled east. They had little doubt that they were moving toward the heart of the corruption in the Brecilian Forest. The black foulness was now coating everything, pulsing and reaching out for the small scouting party as they passed by. That which the foulness did not cover was already dead; lifeless, spindly trees with bare, gray branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal hands. Ferns that would have covered the forest floor were withered and dry as dust, crumbling at the slightest movement or touch from the passing men.

Darkspawn often harried the Grey Wardens as they passed, their numbers growing thicker as they traveled further east. After battling with the latest group of the creatures, Nathaniel paused to wipe the gore from his face with an already filthy rag, succeeding in smearing the filth rather than removing it. Scoffing, he threw the filthy rag to the ground.

"I don't know how much further we should try traveling," he reluctantly admitted, his eyes warily watching the trees around them for more approaching darkspawn. The creatures were still nearby; the incessant pull on their blood and throbbing behind their eyes confirmed the creatures' presence. "I don't think the breach is all that far away, but the closer we come to it, the more darkspawn we are likely to run across."

Jowan looked about warily, keeping a firm grip on his staff; his nervousness was clearly written on his face and he was breathing heavily from both the exertion of travel and the constant spellcasting. His hair was plastered to his head with both sweat and blood, not all his own. "If we keep encountering bands of darkspawn like the last few, I'll be out of lyrium in no time. Maybe we should think about returning to camp. We know, or at least suspect, the breach can't be far away."

Oghren took a long draw from the small flask he produced from inside his armor. Judging from the smell, Nathaniel thought it was his favorite, nasty, lichen ale from Orzammar. The dwarf cast his eyes to the trees above, indicating a particularly tall one not far from where they stood. "Hey, Howe. Think you can climb up that? Get a better look?" he asked, indicating the tree with a tilt of his head.

Turning his gaze toward the tree Oghren indicated, Nathaniel began to study it. The tree was a solid evergreen, clearly one of the oldest in this part of the forest. It towered high above its neighbors, likely forcing out weaker competition long ago. The rogue brought a hand to his chin, rubbing it as he studied the tree. It was suffering from the onslaught of the corruption, as the other trees in this area were, but it still appeared to be partially alive and still standing strong. With a shrug, Nathaniel turned toward Oghren and Jowan. "It looks sturdy enough. I can try climbing it to see if I can see farther out into the forest."

"It's worth a shot," Jowan shrugged, nervously twirling his staff in his hands. "The worst that can happen is that you won't be able to see anything."

"Or hit every branch on the way down," Oghren supplied, looking at the tree warily. _Better that sodding cloudhead trying to climb it than ol' Oghren. _He took another draw from his flask, thanking the ancestors that his stature precluded him from the climb.

"Oh, that's reassuring," Jowan snorted.

Unslinging his bow, Nathaniel handed it to Jowan for safekeeping. He looked up into the branches of the tree, plotting his course before leaping up and grabbing a low branch, pulling himself up. Taking a deep breath, he began to climb.

Oghren and Jowan stood at the base of the tree, watching as Nathaniel carefully picked his hand and footholds, slowly and methodically climbing ever higher. "Ever climb a tree, sparkle-fingers?" Oghren asked Jowan, watching as Nathaniel began to become obscured by the branches of the tree.

"I grew up in a tower," Jowan said, glancing down at Oghren and scoffing at the look of unease on the dwarf's face. "The only trees I saw were in books. Or the books themselves."

"Then that makes two of us. Sod trees."

After several long moments of watching the top of the tree sway ominously, both Jowan and Oghren silently breathed a sigh of relief as they saw Nathaniel's form begin to climb slowly and methodically down. Nathaniel landed on the ground several moments later with a small thud, picking up a handful of leaves and pine needles off the ground and rubbing them between his hands, trying to rid his skin of the sticky sap. Both Jowan and Oghren could see the unease on Nathaniel's suddenly pale features.

"What did you see?" Jowan asked, turning a curious and wary eye to the east.

Nathaniel dropped the handful of leaves he had been working between his hands, turning and gesturing toward the southeast. "There is a clearing not too far distant, but it's teeming with darkspawn; it would be suicide to continue on without more Grey Wardens and about a dozen explosive packages from the Dworkin the Mad."

"But did you see a sodding breach?" Oghren growled.

"I think so; there's what looks like a turning over of the earth and a large number of trees uprooted," Nathaniel said quietly, an involuntary shudder running through his body. "But as I said, there are so many darkspawn teeming through the area, it's hard to tell. But if I were a betting man, I would put my money on it." Picking up his bow, Nathaniel waved Jowan and Oghren forward. "Come on; we need to get back to camp."

Picking up his double bladed axe, Oghren took several small swings at the tree Nathaniel had just climbed, putting several notches into the trunk. "Marking the tree for later. I think we'll be back."

* * *

Sigrun walked the perimeter of the small camp, uneasiness crawling up and down her spine like a bad rash spreading unhindered. Something felt _wrong, _the feeling growing within their camp as well as in the surrounding forest. She felt like she was being watched by a stalking predator, their unseen eyes burrowing into her flesh as she moved along her patrol. Several of Sergeant Maverlies's men were gathered around the remains of a small fire, chatting quietly as they kept watch. The other Grey Wardens had been gone for a short while and were expected back within a few hours. The low sun had hidden behind the clouds and a cool breeze had kicked up, serving to further fuel her uneasiness. Sigrun heard the soldiers comment about a cold rain being on the wind and was not looking forward to being soaked to the bone on their trip back to the main Dalish camp. She imagined the rain would be about as cold as the Dalish welcome.

Movement from the corner of her eye drew Sigrun's attention to her left. She froze in her tracks and placed her hands on the hilts of her daggers, watching warily through the trees for movement. Narrowing her eyes, Sigrun focused her attention on the area of the dense underbrush where she thought she spotted something. She thought she saw two small flashes of light within the underbrush, reflecting the ambient light. A tickle formed in the back of her mind, a slight pull on her tainted blood that felt alien yet strangely familiar at the same time. Sigrun blinked and shook her head slightly as if to clear it from cobwebs and when she opened her eyes, the anomaly was gone. After several moments, the strange feeling began to fade, seemingly withdrawing into the forest toward where the elves Anwen and Hadyn indicated the thickest of the corruption lay. Shrugging, Sigrun frowned, her brows furrowing. _Better tell Nate about this; could be something. Could be nothing. Probably just me feeling cloudheaded. All that sky above me makes my mind feel full of air._

* * *

_The plan is to get one more chapter up this week before I head off to Minneapolis again for work next week. While I'm out there (four days there, three days home for the next three weeks), you'll probably only get one chapter a week at best. Feel free to PM me while I'm out there; I'll just be sitting in my hotel room after work, making the Droid work overtime! I think Shakespira had it right; if I'm busy working, that just means Lhi and Loghain are spending some quiet time together. Ah, Shakespira, you always make me grin. ;)_

_Mages, according to what I've been able to find, are not forbidden from marriage, but are not encouraged to marry either (since they have a high likelihood of conceiving children with magical abilities). Sometimes the Chantry uses it as a "reward" for good behavior. Since the Chantry requires the elves to have approval, I thought they would require mages to have Chantry approval as well. Maker forbid mages so much as breathe without Chantry approval.  
_

_Extra special thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Kira Tamarion (and thanks for putting a HUGE smile on my face this week over on the Cheeky Monkey boards), Shakespira, Dante Alighieri, Arsinoe, JackOfBladesX (who tries to keep me on the straight and narrow...thank you!), Tyanilth, and Dark Chubb. I'm grateful for all your opinions and insight. Please keep the reviews coming; they are important to me and help inspire me to keep going.  
_

_Thanks as well to all the readers!  
_


	17. Corruption in the Blood

_A/N: Dalish translation at the end of the chapter._

* * *

Sigrun was feeling uneasy as their diminished group followed their marked path back toward the main Dalish camp. Nathaniel, Jowan, and Oghren returned not long before, having spotted what they believed was a great upheaval in the earth, an unnatural opening that was teeming with darkspawn and almost certainly caused by the archdemon Maverlies' scouts had quickly burned their lost colleagues and gathered the ashes once Jowan's magic cooled them enough to be handled. Losing colleagues was never easy and her mind drifted back to her last days of being a member of the Legion of the Dead, just before she became a Grey Warden. The last assault by the darkspawn on her company left her with nightmares; the screams of the Legion and their support staff filling her nights with anxiety and sadness. Just when she thought she had gotten past her grief, it came roaring back. Perhaps she would never completely cope with it, each death of a colleague to the darkspawn, to battle, or to the Calling tearing the scab off the wound to bleed freely again.

Focusing inward, Sigrun tried to determine the source of her unease as the path toward the camp fell behind them. Something around their group still felt..._wrong, _somehow. It was not just the sense of grief either; something dark seemed to be growing amongst them, infesting them like an insidious worm. The source, she discovered after some thought, swirled around the elven twins. They felt...

"Tainted," she whispered, opening her senses to wash over the elves, not caring if they suspected or felt her intrusion. Hadyn's head turned slightly, as if sensing a predator on the wind. That small gesture told Sigrun all she needed to know. Turning to look behind her, where Nathaniel walked, Sigrun slowed her steps until she fell in line beside him. Nathaniel looked down at Sigrun, giving the dwarf a friendly nod.

"What's on your mind, Sigrun?" Nathaniel asked, returning his gaze toward the front of the pack where the elves led the way. Sigrun noticed a small frown cross his features as he looked ahead.

"Don't you sense something a little...off...with them? Other than her being openly hostile?" Sigrun asked, tilting her head slightly in the direction of the elves. As she spoke, Oghren and Jowan fell into step with them, each one affected by the as yet unspoken sense of uneasiness; even Oghren had a troubled expression on his bearded face. "Those tree huggers are both about as off as a whore in a chantry," Oghren remarked.

Nathaniel shrugged and sighed, his regret evident. "They're tainted," he said, his voice just barely above a whisper. "I felt it right away after the battle. I think Anwen knows something is wrong, but she either isn't sure what it is or she is in denial. Hadyn, I think, knows what's happening but won't speak of it."

"How long do you think they have before...you know," Jowan began, not wanting to say his thought aloud, fearing it would come true. He knew, however, that the taint meant certain death for the elves. The question now was how; would the Wardens bring them a quick, merciful death, or would the taint take them as mindless, raving ghouls? Jowan shivered; the thought of the taint turning them into such horrific creatures was a fate he would not wish on his worst enemy. _Well, I can think of a person or two I wouldn't feel bad for if this happened to them._

"It's hard to say for certain," Nathaniel began, scratching his scalp as he thought. "I don't have experience in such matters." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "If I had to venture a guess...based on how it 'feels', I'd say Hadyn will be lucky to make it back to the Dalish camp. Anwen is progressing much more slowly, but even she will succumb before long."

Oghren spat into the dirt beside him as they walked, his disgust evident to the other Wardens. "Ancestors' tits. So then what do we do? Run 'em though?"

"Loghain gave me enough blood to perform several Joinings," Nathaniel explained, the flask that he carried in his pouch suddenly feeling much heavier as he had to consider it. "It's an option, but not one that I would perform without Keeper Lanaya's approval first. I would keep fostering better relations with the Dalish if at all possible."

"But what are their chances?" Jowan asked, gesturing slightly with his hands. "We can hardly waste a Joining on someone who will most likely die anyway. My own Joining was very touch and go; from what rudimentary healing knowledge Anders taught me, I think the Joining will probably kill Hadyn."

With a nod, Nathaniel turned to Jowan. "I happen to agree."

Sigrun shuddered once, thinking about the strange alien yet familiar feeling she had sensed in the forest not long before Nathaniel, Jowan, and Oghren returned to camp. "There's something else, Nate."

Turning to face Sigrun, Nathaniel saw the worry lines that creased her tattooed face; he frowned. If her worries put that look on her face, they were serious indeed. "What's that?" Nathaniel asked, keeping a wary eye to the forest around them.

"When you were gone looking for the breach, I felt something in the forest. Something…weird." Sigrun shivered, a cold chill running down her spine; though the weather had indeed turned chillier, it was not the temperature that caused Sigrun to shiver, but the memory of feeling like helpless prey.

Brows furrowing, Nathaniel studied Sigrun further, seeing the increasing disquiet on the dwarf's normally perky face. "What do you mean by weird?"

Sigrun shook her head, waving a hand through the air in dismissal. "It's probably nothing, but I thought I felt something…familiar…in the forest. Like one of us but…not."

Nathaniel began to puzzle over what Sigrun said when the Grey Wardens' attention was suddenly brought ahead of them as Anwen gasped loudly. Hadyn had fallen to the ground, the black tendrils of corruption beginning to snake up the skin of his neck, his eyes wide with shock. Jowan and Nathaniel rushed forward, kneeling beside Haden and earning a vicious snarl from Anwen. "Get back, shemlens."

"Anwen, your brother has been tainted," Nathaniel explained, pointing to the spreading tendrils on Hadyn's skin. The elf's skin was covered in a sheen of sweat yet clammy cool, his eyes already taking on a disconcerting milky sheen. "Tainted?" he said, his voice raspy as if he had a sore throat. "What does that mean? Can it be cured?"

"Let Keeper Lanaya and the healers determine that, not some ignorant shem," Anwen growled at her brother before turning her gaze pointedly at the humans. "The Dalish have forgotten more about medicine that you shemlens will ever know. _They_ will treat Hadyn, not _you._" Draping Hadyn's arm around her shoulders, Anwen stood and pulled her twin to his feet, moving as fast as Hadyn would allow in the direction of the Dalish camp.

* * *

A gentle breeze blew across the roof of Vigil's Keep, carrying with it the smell of freshly turned earth as the nearby farmers prepared their fields for planting. Lhiannon stood atop the roof of Vigil's Keep, savoring the sunshine that was growing stronger as the days moved toward the warmer seasons. She had exchanged her heavy winter cloak for a woolen tunic and pants, heavier than what she normally wore yet they were warm enough that they rendered a cloak unnecessary when outside. She leaned on the cool stone wall of the roof, looking out over Vigil's Keep and toward Amaranthine and the ocean beyond. She hoped the sun would help cleanse her of the dark, brooding anger that occupied her thoughts since the Grand Cleric and Revered Mother left for Denerim, or Amaranthine, or wherever their narrow minds took them. At this point, she did not care if their carriage took them straight to Urthemiel's breach; let _them_ handle the remaining darkspawn if they were so adamantly against her.

As she stared out over the countryside, she absentmindedly conjured a small ball of ice, crystal clear and reflecting the rays of the sun, throwing small rainbows onto the walls and ground where she stood. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the ball away from her, where she watched it fall and land on the angled roof of the tower below her, shattering into small fragments that rolled down the tiles of the roof and melting before they could fall further.

Lhiannon remained standing at the wall, conjuring another crystal clear ball of ice and twirling it about as it hovered near the palm of her hand. _Damned Chantry. I don't think they will be satisfied until all mages are either bred out of existence or made tranquil. Maker forbid they marry! Or have children! Or even live a normal life! _The ball rotated slowly at first, but then began to revolve faster and faster as she continued to brood, her anger thrumming through her veins.

Loghain did not need anyone to tell him where to find Lhiannon; all he needed to do was follow the dark spikes of anger through the taint, the fury growing stronger as he climbed the stairs of the Vigil. He paused for a moment before passing through the door and onto the roof with her, seeking to not alarm her. _Idiot, it isn't as if she hasn't sensed you already._ He passed through the door, sensing the prickle of magical energies in the air around him as he drew closer to where Lhiannon stood. Reaching her side, he placed his elbows on the stone wall and leaned onto them. As he settled his weight onto his forearms, he watched as she angrily flung the ice ball down to the roof below, shattering into tiny shards that flew out in all directions.

"Alistair should just free the Ferelden mages now," Lhiannon growled, her dark gaze falling onto the countryside below. "Make us free from the ridiculous 'oversight' of the Chantry and templars." She snorted angrily, quickly conjuring another ball of ice and hurling it toward the roof below. "Oversight indeed. It's subjugation, pure and simple."

"While I don't disagree that many mages are suffering under the boot of the Chantry," Loghain began cautiously, "the King and Queen must be careful with such a declaration." His eyes fell on the countryside below that was his beloved Ferelden, seeing for a moment the devastation that nearly befell it during the Blight; what would befall them if the Chantry decided to press the issue with force. "The Chantry has a formidable army in the templars; I don't think anyone knows their true numbers. If the mages of Ferelden were suddenly freed, circumstances could become chaotic."

Lhiannon turned and glared at Loghain, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "So you would rather see the mages subjugated? Made Tranquil? What of all the family lines within Ferelden that have magical talents running through them? What of them? Should they simply be rounded up and placed in camps, their children watched for magical talents for the next three generations? And then when the bloodlines are free of magical 'corruption', would they then be given land and allowed to live normal lives?" She paused for a moment, letting her words hang in the air between them. "And what happens if the very bloodline of the Crown itself shows magical talent? Will the Chantry seek to depose them, putting the Grand Cleric in as the head of state? You know that if they could, they would do all these things and more."

"And if the mages _are_ freed, do you think the Divine will sit idly by on her gilded alter in Val Royeaux?" Loghain barked, turning to face her with his own anger growing. "I can tell you that she _will not_, not if that sly bitch Celene has anything to say about it…"

"Orlais, again," Lhiannon scoffed, rolling her eyes skyward. "Always _Orlais_ with you."

"Yes, _Orlais, again_," Loghain countered. "The Divine has almost as much influence there as the Empress herself. Do not think for one _second_ that they would not take advantage of the chaos suddenly freeing the Ferelden mages would bring within our borders."

"I will grant you that one point, Loghain," she reluctantly growled, "I can see Ferelden being taken advantage of if weakened by any sort of internal struggle." She continued to look out over Amaranthine, the scent of freshly turned earth still mingling with the gentle breeze. With an angry scoff, she threw her hands up in the air. "So then what would you have me do, Loghain? Capitulate to their demands and go slinking back to Kinloch Hold where I and all the other mages belong?"

Loghain reached out, grasping her shoulders and turning her to face him. Her cheeks were flushed pink with simmering anger, her eyes flashing with rage. Loghain stared into those dark, angry eyes, seeking to bring her peace. "Don't be ridiculous. You can be an instrument of change between the mages and the Chantry, but it must be done _slowly_, methodically. You are a slippery slope to the Chantry; if you can succeed as Arlessa and Warden Commander and show the people of Ferelden that mages are not the deviants the Chantry would have them believe, change _will_ happen. _You_ will be the instrument of that change, and you would have done it without raising a sword and marching to open war." He watched her face for several moments as she considered his words, the heat of her anger slowly abating as she turned her head to look out again over her arling. She sighed, a heavy sigh of resignation.

With a snort, Lhiannon allowed herself to be pulled into Loghain's arms. "I'm glad to see you aren't ready to ship me off to Kinloch Hold then. Or bind me like a qunari saarebas." She looked up at him, the residual anger in her eyes replaced with a mischievous glint. "Unless you want to."

Loghain's deep chuckle rumbled through his chest and into her, causing Lhiannon's blood to heat significantly. From what she could feel through their shared taint, his blood was a little warmer as well.

* * *

A look of deep concern crossed Lanaya's face the moment Hadyn was brought before her at the Dalish camp. Worry was written on Anwen's face, her hands twisting together in anxiety as Lanaya and two of the camp's healers looked at the increasingly frail Hadyn as he lay on a cot in one of the healer's tents. Nathaniel and Jowan stood nearby and watched the proceedings with concern; even now, Jowan could see the black streaks creeping up the back of Anwen's neck, though they were nowhere near as pervasive as Hadyn's. He nudged Nathaniel and made a slight movement toward Anwen's neck, hoping Nathaniel would see what was there. Jowan need not have worried; with a slight nod, Nathaniel indicated that he had indeed spotted the spreading taint on the elf's skin.

Hadyn drifted in and out of consciousness, his breathing becoming more labored as the taint within him progressed rapidly; the Grey Wardens could all sense that his death was simply a matter of time now, very little of which was left. Lanaya motioned for the healers to leave the tent after conferring with them quietly for a few moments in the elven language. After the healers left, she slowly turned toward Anwen, hands held out in supplication.

"Anwen, I'm sorry, but there is nothing the healers can do for Hadyn," Lanaya said softly, a look of incredible sadness and regret on her delicate features. Anwen stood still for a few moments, her eyes still locked onto Hadyn as her hands twisted about each other in anxiety. The Grey Wardens watched as her face suddenly twisted in pain and grief before Anwen whirled to face her Keeper.

"This is _your fault._ Had you not ordered us to go with these shemlen'alas, this corruption would not have fallen upon us," Anwen snarled, the rage and venom in her words nearly palpable in the air. She pointed toward the increasingly frail Hadyn. "And now Hadyn is condemned to die a ghoul for your order!"

"The Grey Wardens are worthy of our help," Lanaya explained, her voice taking a harsher edge as she motioned toward those very Wardens gathered around them. "They did a tremendous service to our tribe…"

"And for such they have brought the corruption into the tribe!"

Nathaniel quietly stepped forward, his attention split between the Keeper and the grieving Anwen. "There is also a second issue here. Anwen is also tainted and will succumb before long."

Lanaya sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead with her hands. "And there is no cure for this corruption?" she asked, her voice weary.

Turning to regard his fellow Grey Wardens for a moment, Nathaniel pulled the small flask Loghain had given him out of his pack and held it in his hand. "The only cure that I am aware of is to become a Grey Warden. That, however, is also not without risk and it may be that the price of becoming a Grey Warden is paid now rather than later."

"What do you mean, I'm tainted?" Anwen snarled angrily, "Can't you just say what you mean rather than speak in riddles?" She crossed her arms over her chest, her angry gaze flitting between the Grey Wardens and her Keeper.

A wary glance was shared between Nathaniel and Jowan before they turned back toward the elves again. "Keeper Lanaya, would you mind if we spoke privately with Anwen and Hadyn?"

Casting a glance between the brother and sister, Lanaya considered her options. There were, in reality, few. She could let the Wardens speak with the elves to determine their fate. If the Wardens simply left, leaving matters as they were, she would likely have to decide _her _course of action. She could not take the risk of the twins infecting others with the taint; she would either be forced to kill them or exile them to the forest, where they would die alone. The options made her mouth suddenly taste like ash. Lanaya nodded gravely and silently moved to the outside, the tent flaps rustling quietly as she passed through the opening. Anwen's eyes rested on her brother, who was passing in and out of consciousness and barely registering the conversations going on around him. The elf pointedly ignored the two Grey Wardens who watched her closely.

"Anwen," Nathaniel began gently and quietly, "Hadyn will soon become a ghoul. Do you know what that means?"

"I'm not stupid, shemlen," Anwen snarled, her face grimacing as she spoke.

Ignoring the barb, Nathaniel continued. "The only cure for the corruption, for you and your brother, would be to submit to the Joining and become Grey Wardens. You, I feel, would succeed." Nathaniel paused for a moment, his voice grave when he spoke again. "Hadyn, I fear, will succumb to the taint, no matter what we do. Perhaps it is best that we end his pain now, swiftly, before he can become a ghoul."

Anwen's head whipped around to face Nathaniel, the hate and loathing flashing in her strange eyes. "You shall not touch him," Anwen growled, turning her lithe body toward Nathaniel and pulling a wicked looking dagger from a scabbard on her belt. She did not raise it just yet, but kept it in plain sight, her actions showing everyone that she would not hesitate to use the dagger if need be. "I will kill you where you stand if you even _think_…"

"Anwen."

A hoarse whisper from the bedroll of furs drew Anwen's attention like crows to carrion. Hadyn had stirred from unconsciousness, lucid for perhaps one of the last times. He held a weak hand out toward Anwen, beckoning her to come kneel next to him. Anwen moved to his side, taking his hand in hers, not flinching at the dark corruption now almost completely covering his flesh and holding his disconcerting milky stare with her own.

"Anwen, I can feel the corruption taking my mind from me," Hadyn whispered as he felt the warmth from his sister's hand envelop his. "Perhaps it is best to end this swiftly."

"No," Anwen breathed, the desperation to save her brother clear in her voice. "Don't ask me to do this, Hadyn. I won't kill you."

"If you don't," Hadyn reasoned, "I will become a mindless monster. I can already feel my mind slipping away from me; I won't be _me _much longer. Don't let me go that way." Hadyn turned toward Nathaniel, his milky eyes resting on the rogue. "If you think it best, I will submit to the Joining. Do you?"

With a heavy sigh, Nathaniel slowly shook his head. "With how fast the corruption progressed within you, I do not think you would survive the ritual." Hadyn sighed, closing his eyes and sighing in resignation. "I'm sorry," Nathaniel continued, the regret heavy in his voice.

"What are you talking about?" Anwen snarled, turning to meet Nathaniel and Jowan's eyes with all the burning rage behind hers. "If this silly ritual of yours will work, _do it!_"

"I must be brutally honest with you," Nathaniel sighed, "I seriously doubt Hadyn will survive. I dare not waste what Joining material we have on a what will ultimately be a fruitless effort."

"I care not, shemlen," Anwen spat, "you will perform this ritual on Hadyn _now._"

Nathaniel regretfully shook his head, holding Anwen's gaze in his own. "I can't waste a Joining, Anwen. I'm sorry. The best thing we can do is end his pain swiftly."

Moving almost too fast to follow, Anwen had her blade pressed to Nathaniel's neck, a vicious snarl twisting her delicate face. Jowan stuck his hand outside the tent flap, waving madly as he watched the scene before him unfold. He summoned some of his power, preparing to unleash a spell to debilitate her. Nathaniel calmly looked at the dagger for a moment before raising his eyes to Anwen's; her strange elven eyes burned with the fires of hatred for the Warden and for humans in general. _"Perform the ritual," _Anwen snarled, her dagger all but slicing the flesh of Nathaniel's neck; he stood still, calmly regarding the elf as her face grew red in anger.

"Anwen," Hadyn whispered, his voice quickly weakening as the corruption advanced relentlessly, "stop this."

The flap of the tent whipped open and Cris poked his head inside to see the elf threatening Nathaniel. With a move almost too fast to follow, Cris lunged forward and grabbed Anwen's wrist, twisting it away from Nathaniel's neck and behind her back. She snarled and struggled against Cris in the small space, reaching behind her and raking her fingernails across his face, leaving deep channels of blood in his flesh. Cris hissed in pain, his face contorted into a grimace as he overpowered Anwen, forcing the enraged elf to the ground. She swore in the Dalish language as Hadyn sighed, his chest beginning to hitch as he drew increasingly shallower breaths.

"Cris, stop," Nathaniel ordered sharply, placing his hand on the human's shoulder. Cris looked at Nathaniel warily, but complied, releasing Anwen and standing up. The elf was immediately on her feet, glaring at the human men before her. Nathaniel's brow furrowed in thought; clearly, Anwen would not rest until he tried the Joining on Hadyn. Giving the elf even the smallest amount of darkspawn blood would most likely kill him. Nathaniel would much rather see Hadyn die quickly and mercifully rather than die slowly as a ghoul, his mind becoming less and less coherent and sentient as time passed. Perhaps giving him a small amount of the Joining mixture would both satisfy Anwen and give Hadyn the quick release Nathaniel wanted to give. Conversely, maybe Hadyn would defy the almost insurmountable odds against survival and become a Grey Warden; Ferelden needed more Wardens and both Anwen and Hadyn were excellent scouts and trackers. The Warden Commander would likely welcome their talents; he would take the risk and perform the Joining.

Nathaniel sighed, closing his eyes and briefly brushing his temple with his fingers. He winced at the pain he felt growing there. Turning to Jowan, Nathaniel asked for a cup and some wine, along with Lanaya herself; the mage quickly moved off, eager to comply with Nathaniel's orders. Turning back to thank Cris for his help, Nathaniel had to hold back an audible gasp at the sight.

* * *

_Shemlen'alas - Dirty humans_

_There are some of you out there who probably don't know that the lovely Shakespira and I spent most of Friday throwing each other under several busses; I cannot tell a lie, I threw her under it first. Why, you ask? Cheeky Monkey challenges, of course. We each challenged the other to write a one-shot about, well, let's just say that while two is company, three is a threesome. :p Her contribution to the cause is called **Strawberry Fields Forever**, starring Loghain, Teagan Guerein, and Josslyn Amell, and is based on her story **With Noble Intent**. If you haven't read it yet, finish reading this and then immediately go to her stories and enjoy. My contribution is called **Damn the Antivan Brandy**, starring Loghain, Lhi, and Jowan. If you could read and review the stories, we would both appreciate it! It was a lot of fun!_

_I probably won't be able to update again until next weekend, since I'll be in Minneapolis for a chunk of this week. I'll still be writing, but the final editing of chapters on FF from my Droid, while not impossible, is tricky. Feel free to PM me; I'm always happy to chat it up.  
_

_Extra special thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, sammi1318, Arsinoe, Tyanilth, icey cold (who flooded my inbox and made my Droid buzz so much I thought it needed a cigarette...hee hee), and Gene Dark. I always appreciate your comments, support, suggestions, and cheerleading. And if the occasional bus hits me, that's OK too._

_Thanks to the readers and lurkers as well!  
_


	18. The Difference in Joinings

_Note: more Dalish translations at the end of the chapter. Also, remember way back in chapter two when Lhiannon and Loghain were discussing their future? Wondered what they had decided? Wondering what had Nathaniel so shaken up at the end of the last chapter? Well, it's time to find out._

* * *

Walking the halls of Vigil's Keep, Raelyn decided to visit the Grey Wardens' training room, knowing that when Lhiannon was finally given the all clear, she would want to start training Raelyn the arcane warrior arts. Raelyn needed something to be kept busy; while she was grateful to the Grey Wardens for giving them sanctuary at Vigil's Keep, she felt a lack of purpose. _Now I know how the homeless refugees from Amaranthine feel_, she thought to herself, shaking her head sadly. She hoped that they could all return to Rainesfere one day, but her hope was small; Arl Eamon was seemingly prepared to do whatever it took to make all their lives miserable because Teagan did the right thing by speaking the truth against the former Arlessa Isolde. Teagan, Raelyn knew, was also feeling lost and useless the longer they stayed at Vigil's Keep; he was itching for something do to, be it working some sort of task that the Commander assigned to them, or something of Teagan's own consideration. In her quest to keep busy—because idle hands did demons' work, or so the Chantry extolled—Raelyn decided to explore the common areas of the interior of Vigil's Keep. The small library held a number of tomes that Raelyn had perused, the inactivity of sitting still intensifying and making her skin crawl. Sighing heavily with frustration, she replaced the tome she had been reading back on its shelf and exited the small library, turning toward where the Grey Wardens trained. She had not visited the training room yet and was curious as to what it was like, especially if she were to start training with Lhiannon in the arcane arts. As she approached, she heard a thumping sound, quickly followed by a scoff of apparent disgust and colorful swearing.

"Andraste's knickerweasels! That bloody well hurt!"

Raelyn had to suppress a chuckle as she paused in the doorway of the training room. Inside the room stood Anders, robes slightly wrinkled and a practice sword in his hand that he awkwardly swung at a practice dummy. The sword landed on the dummy with a loud thud, followed by a gasp of pain and surprise from the mage. Anders shook his hands one by one, apparently trying to rid them of a pins and needles sensation. Raelyn snorted from the doorway, quickly covering her mouth to suppress a grin as Anders quickly spun about and dropped his sword, the sound of it hitting the floor a loud clatter in the room. His mouth dropped open and bright red splotches bloomed on his cheeks at being discovered. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the nearest crevice in the floor.

"I didn't know you fought with a sword; or tried to," Raelyn snorted, her mouth turned up in a humorous smirk. She entered the room and picked up the dull sword, offering it to Anders hilt first. Reaching out, Anders gently took the proffered sword, turning to replace it on a nearby rack to join the other practice weapons. The redness on his pale skin flared brightly once more.

"Ah, not really," he stammered, the redness in his face starting to recede just the tiniest bit. "I was just trying to vent some frustrations; it works for Loghain anyway; you always know his knickers are in a knot if he's down here by himself, reducing the sparring dummies to kindling," Anders chattered, nearly knocking over the other practice weapons as he set his practice sword on the rack. Raelyn quickly stepped forward and reached out, steadying the other weapons and helping Anders set them to rights before they spilled onto the floor. "Sword fighting really isn't my thing," he continued, setting the last of the weapons to rights. "I'd rather stand at the back and cheer the others on. _Way_ in the back. Besides, Ser Pounce-A-Lot doesn't like all the commotion and I don't like picking his claws out of my skin."

Raelyn turned to face Anders, one of her brows rising in humor. "So, you're afraid to jump right into the middle of a fight? Bludgeon some bandits or darkspawn with your staff?"

With a scoff, Anders turned to face Raelyn, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes at her, fighting to keep a smirk off his face. "I prefer to call it 'conservative fighting'. Why do I need to go charging into the middle of a pack of enemies when I can stand off to the side and hurl fire or ice at them? I'm a _great_ cheerleader." Anders made a sweeping gesture with his hands, indicating his slightly rumpled robes. "Besides, do you know how long it takes to get blood out of these robes? I can't tell you how many robes I've had ruined because I've been too close to an enemy and their blood gets all over me. Or Ser Pounce-A-Lot shreds my robes to pieces."

"I want to learn to use a sword to keep those bloody templars on edge," Raelyn snarled, her face scrunching slightly in disgust. "If they come after me for whatever reason, I want them to think twice about it. I won't toe their line and I know that one day, I'll do something that the Chantry won't like and then they'll send the templars after me." She brought her eyes up to Anders, meeting his with a glare speaking of her firm resolve. "When that day comes, I want to be ready for them."

"You hate the Chantry that much?" Anders asked, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Raelyn with a questioning look. Lhiannon thought the Chantry and templars more nuisance than anything else, though Anders would not be surprised if that feeling of nuisance turned into outright loathing after what the Revered Mother and Grand Cleric recently said. As for himself, he could certainly live life completely happy if he never saw another templar or Chantry adherent in his life; if the Maker came and took them all to his side in the rumored Golden City, Anders would happily wave and wish them all the best of luck in their new endeavors.

Raelyn looked at Anders, her expression deadly serious and her fists angrily clenched. "Absolutely," she snarled through gritted teeth. "The Chantry and templars are the biggest bunch of hypocrites in Thedas. I hope I live to see the day where mages are no longer under their boot, free to take their rightful place as productive, _equal _members of society. Where people don't fear us just because the Chantry says they should."

"You're a girl after my own heart," Anders grinned, laughing lightly. "You know, I once started a rumor about secret passages in Kinloch Hold just to annoy the templars. They were pressing their ears to the walls for months, listening for movement within the walls to try and find the passages. I laughed about that for quite some time."

"It was _you_ that started that rumor?" Raelyn asked, her eyes widening in amused surprise. "I was wondering why the templars were so interested in the walls. I thought they were just being nosy and eavesdropping on the mages." A smirk crossed the mage's face. "You know, listening to the mages as they, shall we say, came together?" She snorted with amusement. "Voyeurs, every last one of them."

Anders laughed, a resonant sound that Raelyn found appealing as she laughed along with him. "I wonder how many times the templars heard me and a young lady together? You know that love was always a game in the Circle, and I a fervent player."

"Indeed," Raelyn agreed, turning back toward the shelf holding the weapons and picking up a small shortsword. She felt more powerful with a sword in her hand; granted, she was powerful enough with her staff, but its mere presence screamed 'mage' wherever she went. If she carried a sword and wore actual armor rather than robes, she would be able to conceal her abilities until such time she revealed them to her enemies. She smirked, enjoying the element of surprise she would, hopefully, soon possess; as soon as Anders gave Lhiannon the approval to begin training her that was. Anders saw her small grin and thought her very lovely for it.

Anders watched as Raelyn's eyes studied the sword in her hand with a degree of wonder and contemplation. "The Commander should be ready to resume her full duties soon; I'll be checking on her condition again in a couple of days," Anders said, answering Raelyn's unspoken question. "I know she is looking forward to working with you to develop your arcane warrior talents."

"Then give her the okay soon," Raelyn said, replacing the sword back onto the rack, "because I'm ready to learn."

* * *

Lhiannon nearly jumped for joy the day Anders finally gave her the all clear to resume all her normal duties. He had visited her in her private chambers, Loghain right at her side, as he examined the healing wound and placed a finger on the scar, closing his eyes and concentrating on the organs beneath the skin. Pulling his finger away, Anders opened his eyes and smiled. "You've healed up nicely, Lhi. You're ready to get back to normal duties."

Tugging her shirt back over her head and tying the laces, Lhiannon smiled, her relief and happiness flowing over both Anders and Loghain in a warm wave, like the rays of the sun on a summer morning. "Thank the Maker! I do have an excellent healer; all the credit goes to him." She watched as Anders smiled and scoffed slightly, waving away her compliment with his hand.

Loghain drew forward, standing next to Lhiannon and placing a hand on the small of her back. He looked to Anders, nodding once as the mage's gaze fell upon him. "Indeed," Loghain agreed, extending his hand to Anders, who shook it with a small degree of surprise. The gesture was somewhat unexpected from the taciturn Warden, but Anders took it for the silent compliment and gesture of appreciation that it was. Anders nodded his thanks at Loghain before turning once more toward Lhiannon. "I know Raelyn is most anxious for you to begin training her in the arcane arts, Lhi. It's all she's talked about for days. She's even tried different practice swords in her hand to get a feel for them."

"The two of you seem awful friendly," Lhiannon observed, a brow quirked skyward and a corner of her mouth ticking upward slightly. A sheepish grin crossed Anders' face and Lhiannon swore she saw a slight red staining of his cheeks, as if he were embarrassed to have been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

"I like her," Anders began, running a hand through his hair in slight embarrassment as he sheepishly looked down at his feet. "She's got quite a wit about her…and she hates the Chantry, so she can't be all bad." The mage turned, walking toward the door and bidding Lhiannon and Loghain a quick farewell over his shoulder. After they heard the outer door to the hall close behind him, Loghain scoffed.

"I think you may be onto something with him," Loghain smirked. "I'd say your observation hit a little too close to the mark for his comfort."

"You may be right," Lhiannon agreed, turning toward her armor stand and beginning to pull on her leathers. She was feeling _alive _once more, like a young fledgling bird spreading her wings to take flight for the first time. "Since I finally have clearance to return to full duty, I'm going to go to the training room to begin showing Raelyn the arcane arts. I have a lot of pent up energy to burn off and that is as good a place as any to start."

Loghain nodded, turning to his armor stand and beginning to pull his leathers off. "I have new missives from Denerim and Gwaren to tend to today," he said, thinking of the small packet he had just received that morning from the ancient bird keeper at the top of Vigil's Keep; a small scroll from Gwaren had arrived via messaging bird, as well as two missives that came via courier from Denerim. "I'll go through them and give you an update later." He moved to Lhiannon's side, gently placing his hands on either side of her face and gazing into her dark eyes. "Do not fret about those busybodies from the Chantry," he gently ordered, watching as a small shadow crossed her features. She had been both angry and melancholy in the days after the Revered Mother and Grand Cleric had visited Vigil's Keep with their demand that she renounce her titles as Arlessa and Warden Commander in exchange for the possibility of the Divine sanctioning their upcoming wedding. Though Lhiannon had no love for the Chantry—especially now—their blessing would have been welcome. That they refused to sanction their wedding unless she gave in to their demands angered her to levels Loghain had rarely seen. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, his thumbs lightly brushing the skin of her cheeks.

"Easier said than done," Lhiannon sighed, bringing her hand up to Loghain's face and, as he did to her, gently brushed the skin of his cheek with her thumb, the skin smooth under her hand after his morning shave. "They make me so angry with their hypocritical ways. They hate blood magic, yet use phylacteries to track mages that they brand apostates and maleficars. They use the approval of marriage as an incentive for mages to toe their line. 'If you're a good little mage, we'll allow you a taste of what _normal _people have.'"

Loghain turned to Lhiannon's armor stand, pulling Spellweaver and its scabbard off and holding it out to her as she had secured the last of her leathers. She took the proffered sword with a nod, belting it around her waist. Giving Loghain one last quick kiss, Lhiannon moved through the chambers and through the halls of Vigil's Keep, ready to pass on her arcane knowledge to yet another mage. Perhaps, between the two of them, they could keep passing on the knowledge to mages who would welcome it. _Raelyn had it right: screw the Chantry_, Lhiannon giggled to herself. _Perhaps it's time to even the odds with the templars; they can smite us to negate our magic, but knowing swordcraft will keep us from being helpless._

After seeing Lhiannon off to the training room, Loghain donned his own Warden leathers and settled into the chair behind his desk, the sealed letters from Denerim and Gwaren on the surface in front of him. The letter from Gwaren had Cauthrien's seal, as Loghain had expected. The first letter from Denerim was not the seal of the Crown, but Anora's own personal seal. The second letter had a plain wax seal and was of far greater interest to him. Loghain had expected the seal of the Crown itself on the letter from Denerim, based on the contents of the note he had sent only days ago; not only had the note asked the King and Queen to come to Vigil's Keep as soon as possible, but there was one other matter in the letter that Loghain knew would require a response from both Alistair and Anora. That matter would have to be addressed and finalized before the upcoming Landsmeet. It was Loghain's desire to have the matter settled and finalized when the King and Queen arrived at Vigil's Keep. The matter in question would have to be completed before the wedding, as their union would require it.

When he and Lhiannon were married, Loghain would renounce his title as Teyrn of Gwaren to become Arl of Amaranthine, naming Cauthrien steward until Anora bore a second child, who would then be named heir to the teyrnir. That was, unless by some miracle of the Maker, Lhiannon bore the heir herself. Seeing as that the chances of he and Lhiannon producing the heir were nearly infinitesimal, it was most likely that Gwaren's heir would born of his own daughter, though Loghain would make sure it was written in the contract that any heir coming from his and Lhiannon's union would inherit Gwaren if born first. If Alistair and Anora beat them to it and had a second child before he and Lhiannon had their first, the Mac Tir child would likely become Arl or Arlessa of Denerim, as that title remained vacant for the time being. The line of Calenhad would continue and the Mac Tir line—a line born of common people—would also hold significant authority in perpetuity, inheriting a sizeable teyrnir and the considerable power and influence it held. One way or another, be it through Lhiannon or Anora, a Mac Tir child would continue to hold Gwaren. Loghain smirked to himself; let Eamon choke on _that_.

As he thought of heirs, his mind turned for a brief moment on the child that Morrigan bore; the child conceived on the eve of battle with the archdemon that saved Lhiannon's life. Morrigan had vowed to take the child and leave, never returning to Ferelden, never telling the child of its father, never seeking to lay a claim to Anora's throne or any part of a noble title or inheritance. Loghain's mind had only occasionally wandered over what had happened to Morrigan and her child; _his_ child, if a child conceived in a magical ritual to hold the soul of an old god could be called such. It was easy to hope that Morrigan would be true to her word and never return, but deep inside, Loghain thought that that would be wishful thinking. He would need to make sure that the marriage and inheritance contracts were carefully written to make sure no loopholes remained in case Morrigan reneged on her promise and returned to attempt some sort of blackmail. He may be the biological father, but Loghain found it hard to consider a child of such circumstances as fully his own; he supposed this made him an even colder man than many thought him to be already. Did he regret his participation in Morrigan's scheme? Not for an instant. _Maker help that swamp witch if she returns to Ferelden in an attempt to make me—or Lhiannon—regret it. If she does, the regrets will be hers and that is a promise._

Breaking the small seal to Cauthrien's letter, Loghain quickly read the contents of the short message. Cauthrien would leave Gwaren within a fortnight after tying up loose ends with Thorne first. She would be at Vigil's Keep about a week later; three weeks then, give or take a few days. Cauthrien would send a missive via messaging bird when she set off for Vigil's Keep, giving him a more exact time of when he could expect her.

Loghain set the letter from his lieutenant aside, picking up the small packet from Denerim with Anora's own seal affixed to it. It was a formal and somewhat vague letter, but Loghain expected nothing less from his daughter. Loghain had taught her early on that even the most trusted couriers could occasionally have lapses in judgment, giving in to curiosity when carrying a letter from a reigning monarch to her noble father. Other couriers were simply unscrupulous, selling the information contained in the letter after carefully opening and resealing the letter.

The second, plainly sealed letter, was the real one. At first glance, the letter appeared to be a report detailing stories and expenses on a household account for a servant within the palace. It was, in reality, Anora's own hand that penned the letter. She was a clever woman, learning to write her personal letters with her off hand while using her dominant hand for formal business. No one other than she and Loghain knew of her ambidextrous nature; Loghain supposed the King may know, but only if Anora wished him to.

The letter used a simple idiot's code that Loghain and Anora had conceived years ago, after Anora wed Cailan and wanted to keep Loghain apprised of official affairs using unofficial means. It had been especially handy when Anora began to sense something amiss surrounding Cailan and Eamon. The message conveyed Anora and Alistair's concern over what had happened to Lhiannon without going into great detail or using her name outright. Most of the letter contained inane, minor palace gossip. When the letter spoke of mabaris, however, Loghain began to study the letter in earnest.

_The mabari houndmaster had wonderful news for us today, as two more hounds successfully imprinted on their new masters and will be leaving for their new homes soon. Between the litters, that leaves only ten more looking for new homes. With the Landsmeet coming, some of the nobles have already arrived in Denerim, so those remaining hounds should find homes before the next bitch gives birth to her litter; Sean thinks that hound will have her litter in about two months. She's a vigorous hound, her condition hardly slowing her down. The hound tires easier toward the end of the day, but still does everything a healthy mabari normally does. The houndmaster has also agreed to your suggestion of bringing in the hound from the southern bloodline to act as stud for the next litter. We'll make the final arrangements soon. _

Loghain smiled to himself. The key to the code was the mention of the mabari houndmaster, keying Loghain in to several key numbers and words in the sentences. He knew that both Anora and Alistair planned on coming to Vigil's Keep; the note mentioned two hounds and masters, the keys used to refer to the monarchs. The next sentence carried the timeline of when they would leave; ten days from the date of the letter. The letter was dated three days ago, so they would be on the road for Vigil's Keep in one week. The mention of some nobles already arriving in Denerim was likely true and needed no decoding. There were a number of noblemen and women that kept homes in Denerim for such occasions and it was no secret that many came early to curry favor before the formalities got underway. Loghain snorted; he held curry favoring nobles with barely concealed contempt.

Anora had made it known that she was feeling generally well with her pregnancy, referring to herself as the pregnant mabari, which caused Loghain to grin and his heart to swell with love and pride for his daughter and unborn grandchild. _Two months until the child arrives; they will want to return to Denerim as quickly as possible then. Lhiannon and I will likely accompany them back, both for the birth of the child and for other business we must conduct in the capital, including the bloody Landsmeet._

Anora also let her father know that she and Alistair received his recommendation of Cauthrien as steward of Gwaren and agreed to it, looking to finalize matters when they arrived. So far, all the plans for the arrival of the King, Queen, and Cauthrien were progressing to plan. In a way, that made his skin itch. He had yet to hear from Cousland and Highever though, which did not surprise Loghain in the least. Cousland, still extremely wary of Loghain, would likely address the issue with Lhiannon herself rather than speak with Loghain. Cousland probably guessed that he would be receiving a new vassal in Loghain before too long; knowing Cousland, he would be wary to have Loghain in his teyrnir permanently, yet likely relieved to have him under close, personal scrutiny. All things considered, Cousland could hardly be blamed for his wariness, given that Rendon Howe was an acquaintance of Loghain's in the past and had been acting as his liaison of sorts during the civil war and when Howe foolishly attacked Highever. Still, Loghain was not about to grovel for acceptance from the young teyrn. Loghain's deeds after the most recent Landsmeet spoke for themselves, his part in ending the Blight well known. If Cousland still had his misgivings, that was his issue and not Loghain's concern.

Loghain picked up a nearby quill and began to scratch on a scrap piece of parchment. Three weeks; Anora, Alistair, and Cauthrien would all be here within three weeks. It appeared that he and Lhiannon would be married within the month. Loghain stood from where he worked at his desk, missives in hand. It was time to tell his betrothed that she would be his bride within weeks.

* * *

"You are certain that this is the only cure?" Lanaya asked, her worried gaze falling again to her clanmates. Anwen knelt next to Hadyn, whispering words of comfort as her brother grew less and less himself. Hadyn had recently raged mindlessly, his guttural growls traveling throughout the Dalish camp, where the murmurs of concerned elves could be heard through the thin walls of the tent's fabric. As the taint continued to turn Hadyn more ghoulish than elven, the corruption in his blood began to sustain and rejuvenate him, a frightening strength beginning to return to his body. The Grey Wardens needed to physically subdue the tainted elf during his last bout of ravings; Anwen had at first fought against them until Hadyn turned his primal rage to her, raking his darkening nails across his sister's face. It was at that moment that Anwen realized, in growing despair, that her brother would not _be_ her brother before too long.

Nathaniel nodded grimly, his gaze quickly flicking between the two tainted elves and the now clearly tainted human with them. During the scuffle earlier with Anwen in which she had clawed at his face, Cris had been exposed to the corruption coursing through Anwen's blood. Cris had seen the look on Nathaniel's face immediately after the scuffle and quickly determined that there was only one thing that could cause the Warden's face to hold such an expression of shock and fear. Cris, realizing that Anwen's blow to his face had tainted him and that it was progressing rapidly through him, stood quietly nearby, contemplating his options and wondering just how long he had before he too became a raging ghoul. Cris understood enough about the Blight sickness to know that he would rather have the Grey Wardens give him a merciful death and take his ashes back to his friend and lord Teagan before he could succumb and become a raging ghoul. He wanted an honorable death, not one of gruesome transformation.

"Becoming a Grey Warden is the only cure, Keeper," Nathaniel confirmed quietly, turning his head to speak down toward Lanaya's ear. "I did not wish to undertake the ritual without your knowledge and consent first, as the Joining is dangerous."

"You are not invoking the Right of Conscription?" Lanaya asked, turning her head to look Nathaniel in the eye. She saw a slight look of surprise in the human's eyes. "Don't look so surprised, Warden," Lanaya said quietly, a small and sad grin crossing her features. "The stories and knowledge of our clans are passed from Keeper to Keeper. The Grey Wardens have conscripted Dalish before, so we know of both the ritual and the Right of Conscription." Lanaya paused for a moment, her gaze turning once again to Anwen and Hadyn before her; Anwen was tenderly brushing locks of her brother's hair off his face. It would be a blow to the clan to lose the gifted hunters and scouts, but Lanaya would rather see them give their skills to the Grey Wardens than become little more than darkspawn for the reminder of t heir significantly shortened lives. An existence as a ghoul was a fate worse than death; the Creators would surely not look favorably on a Keeper that let her charges fall to such a fate.

With a grim nod, Lanaya turned to Nathaniel. "Very well then, Warden. You have my permission to perform the Joining on Anwen and Hadyn."

Nathaniel watched as Lanaya moved forward to kneel next to Anwen, who was wiping her brother's brow with a cloth dampened with water and sweet smelling herbs. Anwen spoke elven words of comfort to her brother, encouraging him to fight the darkness consuming him. Lanaya spoke quietly to Anwen for a moment before Nathaniel watched the elf's head turn and regard her Keeper with a stony glare. Anger and grief were both reflected in those strange elven eyes.

"The Grey Wardens have asked for you and Hadyn to take the Joining," Lanaya said, motioning back to where Nathaniel stood behind them. "I have agreed to the request."

"_Ma nuvenin,__" _Anwen agreed, tilting her head toward the Keeper. "If they can help Hadyn, then so be it."

Lanaya stood, nodding once to Nathaniel before ducking out the flap of the tent. Nathaniel turned to where Jowan and Cris stood behind him. Jowan had a simple cup in one hand and a small bottle of wine in the other. Nathaniel reached into a pouch attached to his belt, pulling out the small flask that contained the darkspawn and archdemon blood used in the Joining. He added a small amount to the cup Jowan held, taking it in his hands as Jowan poured the wine. The wine helped to cover the pungent smell of corruption, but the smell of death still lingered around the cup like a dank cloud. Nathaniel looked to where Anwen knelt, lightly stroking her brother's brow. As he made to move forward, a hand on his shoulder caused Nathaniel to turn; it was Cris at his side, his eyes already beginning to take on the milky appearance that signified the progression of the corruption.

"Let me go first," Cris said, his voice just above a whisper. "I know I'm a dead man already; give me the cup before I lose my nerve."

Nathaniel gave a small sigh, nodding slightly to Cris, motioning for him to stand near where Anwen knelt near Hadyn's side. "You all know that the Grey Wardens are committed to battling the darkspawn and protecting the world from the ravages of the archdemon and the Blight. Though the archdemon is dead and the Blight defeated, we cannot become complacent. We must be ever vigilant against the darkness that seeks to devour all life."

Taking a step to stand in front of Cris, Nathaniel held out the cup that contained the darkspawn mixture and spoke the words of the Joining. When he finished, he handed the cup to Cris, who brought the vessel to his lips and with a grimace, drank.

Anwen's face held an expression of horror as she watched the human rogue's eyes suddenly open wide as he pitched forward, clutching both throat and stomach as he convulsed against the pain he was undoubtedly feeling. A guttural moan escaped his lips before he fell to his knees and then finally to his stomach, his body twitching several times before becoming deathly still. The sense of dread and fear in the tent grew exponentially more oppressive, falling upon those gathered like a heavy cloak.

Coming forward from near the tent's flap, Jowan knelt down by Cris and gently turned him over, feeling for the pulse in his neck that signified life. After a moment of searching and moving his fingers from place to place, a look of relief crossed the mage's features and a heavy sigh of relief escaped his lips. He turned and looked up at Nathaniel, nodding gravely. "He made it."

Nathaniel released the breath he was holding, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips. He then turned to Anwen, whose eyes flicked between Cris laying on the ground and the cup that Nathaniel held in his hands. The cup that could very well hold her death. She turned back to Hadyn, brushing her hand across his brow for what could be the last time. If this was to be her death instead of her salvation, she would not meet it without speaking to her brother first, lending her strength to and gathering strength from him.

"_Ma'arlath__, _brother," Anwen spoke into Hadyn's ear. At the sound of her voice, Hadyn's eyes opened. Anwen saw that—this time, the last time—Hadyn was himself.

"_Ma'arlath_, _emm'asha_," Hadyn whispered, taking Anwen's hand in his and giving it a small squeeze before bringing it to his corrupted lips for a small kiss. "Be brave, sister."

Anwen stood, turning to face Nathaniel with a stoic, stern look to her features. She reached out for the cup that Nathaniel held. Nathaniel handed it her, seeing her hands shake ever so slightly. "From this moment on, Anwen, you are a Grey Warden."

The elf looked at the cup with a look of resignation and disgust, knowing that if she passed the _shemlen's_ test, she would likely have to soon leave her clan behind, traveling with the _shemlens_ that she despised to fulfill a new duty as a Grey Warden. When the time came for her to leave, she would fulfill that new duty and bring honor to her clan and to the Dalish; her arrogant pride would allow her no less. That was, of course, completely dependent on the outcome of this _shemlen_ ritual.

"Creators guide my steps," she whispered, bringing the cup of death to her lips and sipping the foul mixture. Nathaniel's hands quickly reached out and steadied the cup as Anwen's face began to contort in a grimace of pain, her eyes wide and a soundless scream escaping from her lips. She fell to her knees, trying to push a finger down her throat to vomit up the poisonous concoction. She retched loudly several times, but the corrupted liquid appeared to have a life of its own, refusing to release its hold on the new flesh. She finally fell to her side after several moments of struggling with her own body, unconscious. _Fighting the whole time,_ Nathaniel thought, inwardly impressed at the elf's resilience. _She will be a formidable Warden, acerbic attitude aside._ He saw her chest rising and falling shallowly as she lay on the ground; she had survived.

Nathaniel next turned to where Hadyn lay on the cot in the tent, his eyes closed. At first Nathaniel thought he had been asleep but when he saw a small tear squeeze out from behind his closed lids, knew that Hadyn had been awake and listening to the exchange.

"Did she survive?" Hadyn whispered, slowly opening his milky eyes to regard Nathaniel, who was now kneeling at the elf's side. Nathaniel nodded slowly, a small smile on his face. "She did indeed, Hadyn. She's a fighter."

The tainted elf gave a small mirthless chuckle. "You have no idea, _shemlen_. She will serve the Grey Wardens well, but she is as a wild horse. You'll likely have to break her in order to work with her."

Nathaniel returned Hadyn's comment with a mirthless chuckle of his own. "I figured as much." He paused, looking at Hadyn in grave seriousness. "I do not think you will survive the Joining, Hadyn. Do you wish to try anyway?"

"I am dead already, human. Your way will be quicker and kinder than losing my mind to the corruption roaring within me." Hadyn closed his eyes, taking a deep and steadying breath before opening them again and looking at Nathaniel; for a moment, Nathaniel thought the elf's eyes cleared. "Give me peace, human."

With a great sigh, Nathaniel reached forward and helped the elf raise his head so that he could drink from the cup. "_Dareth shiral_, Hadyn."

"_Dareth shiral,_ Warden Nathaniel."

Hadyn drank and when the end came, it was swift and merciful.

* * *

_Here are the new Dalish translations for you:_

___Ma nuvenin: __As you wish_  


___Ma'arlath:_ I love you  


_Ma'arlath_, _emm'asha_: _I love you, my girl_

_A little bit of business before the thank yous. I've recently become a beta to another Loghain fangirl, Morwen33. She is currently writing the story **Unbound**, the story of a young mage known as the White Demon who is charged with ending the Blight after Duncan dies at Ostagar. Her story is snarky and clever, with helpings of angst and adventure thrown in. So, head on over there, check it out, and let her (and me) know what you think. Thanks from both of us!_

_Well, thanks to an expensive bug that icey cold put into my head (through no fault of her own), I went out and bought myself a new toy: a laptop. Not that I wasn't already thinking of getting one to replace my ancient desktop (the gaming computer is still OK for now). I'll be taking it to Minneapolis (yes, I'm going again) next week, so hopefully I can get some serious writing done while I'm in the hotel. I did get several pages done this week, so we're making progress. I released a bit of a longer chapter this week, since I haven't updated on my usual schedule. The same thing probably holds true this week; this will probably be the only update until next weekend.  
_

_Huge thanks go out to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, Dante Alighieri, icey, Arsinoe, JackOfBlaesX, and Tyanilth. You all are the best and I thank you so much for your ideas and feedback!_

_Thanks also to those of you who read and reviewed one shots/Cheeky Monkey challenges "Damn the Antivan Brandy" and "Weak in the Knees." Especially the brave souls that read WITK...the reviews on that one had me crying, I was laughing so hard._


	19. In the Service of the Grey Wardens

The training room at Vigil's Keep was nearly empty, two women being the room's only occupants. A bright silverite sword passed between the women and low conversation could be heard. Any stranger looking into the room would only see what appeared to be two colleagues sharing a lesson in swordcraft. However, any templar would likely feel the hairs on the back of their neck stand, sensing that the two women in the room were not ordinary women, but mages. A sword passing between them would be cause for great concern, especially considering the events in the last few weeks; events concerning the differences of opinion between the Chantry and the Arling of Amaranthine and its Arlessa.

"This sword is amazing," Raelyn gasped, holding Spellweaver in her hand and feeling its magical power surge through her. She and Lhiannon had entered the training room not long before after having found a set of chain armor in the stores that would fit the mage. Raelyn gazed at Spellweaver with rapt fascination as she turned the gleaming sword in her hand; not even her magic staff—or any staff she had owned—thrummed with such power and raw beauty. "Where did you get this?"

"It was a gift from Loghain after the death of the archdemon," Lhiannon explained, watching as Raelyn turned the sword in her hand, bringing it closer to her eyes to examine the delicate etchings within the blade. "He found it in Denerim. It acts as a focus for my magic."

"Quite the gift," Raelyn said, marveling at the etchings in the blade, her eyes following the flow of delicate vines and leaves as they snaked their way along the blade. When Lhiannon did not immediately answer, Raelyn looked toward the Warden Commander, seeing a faraway, yet contented look on her face. "Judging by the look on your face, it was a pleasant experience."

Lhiannon grinned, scoffing lightly as she did so. While receiving the sword had been a pleasant experience, Lhiannon was focusing more on what happened immediately afterward, a gentle shiver of pleasure and anticipation flowing through her. "Well, let's just say that the sword opened a new door for us

Raelyn chuckled lightly, reverently handing the sword back to Lhiannon and listening to the snick of the metal as she slipped it back into the scabbard at her side. "That's why I don't carry a staff any longer," Lhiannon explained, reluctantly pushing the pleasant memories aside to focus on the immediate task, "I don't need to. Besides, with wearing heavier armor, enemies are drawn to me and a staff isn't as handy in melee combat." Lhiannon looked at Raelyn, who seemed to be fatiguing quickly under the weight of the heavy chain. Her breathing was heavier and Lhiannon saw drops of sweat accumulating on her brow and running down her temples. "How are you feeling with that armor? Tired, I bet."

Nodding emphatically, Raelyn nodded and carefully brushed a drop of sweat off her brow. "I've never worn such armor in my life. It's a big difference from robes. I don't know how you can stand wearing heavy armor."

"Practice," Lhiannon grinned. "Practice and strength. In time, your body will adapt to the heavier armor and you'll have to channel less of your mana into strength. For now, I suggest you keep to chain armor until you feel more comfortable, then switch to heavier armor if you choose."

"But what about a sword?" Raelyn asked, gesturing toward Spellweaver. "Do you know where I can get a sword like that?"

Lhiannon shook her head. "No, I don't know of any others like this. However, I suspect the Dalish may have knowledge of forging such weapons. I've worked with a Dalish Keeper before. I'll send word to her to see if they have retained such knowledge. If so, perhaps a weapon can be forged for you. In the meantime, you can use a sword if you wish, or perhaps we can modify your staff so it can be used as a bludgeoning or stabbing weapon. I can use a regular sword, but a number of spells require me to sheathe it before I can cast; still, it's possible to use a regular sword, though your choice of spells will be limited."

"I think, for now, I'd rather have a staff modified," Raelyn stated, wiping another bead of sweat from her brow. "I need to get used to this blasted armor first. One thing at a time."

"Then let's make that armor a little easier for you," Lhiannon said, coming to stand before Raelyn. "You need to channel your mana into strength. The deeper your mana pool, the more you can channel into strength while keeping some in reserve for spells."

A cheeky grin crossed Raelyn's features. "You mean I have to continue studying magic? You're reminding me of the Circle days."

Scoffing lightly, Lhiannon nodded. "Yes, you need to keep studying magic if you want a deeper mana pool to draw from. Since you have to channel so much mana into strength at first, you won't have much left for spellcasting. That's why I recommend keeping with lighter armor to start with; you won't have to channel so much and it will eventually become like second nature to you. But you're getting off subject."

"Sorry, Senior Enchanter," Raelyn giggled for a moment before her face became serious. "Tell me what to do."

"It's not that different from healing, where you focus on the body itself or the specific part of the body and picture it healing. Picture yourself in your armor as a warrior. Focus on the musculature of your body and channel your mana_ within_ you rather than projecting it out _from_ you."

Raelyn closed her eyes in concentration; Lhiannon felt the magical energies begin to swirl about them. Raelyn gathered her power, pulling it within herself rather than sending out as a weapon or as healing. As Lhiannon watched, the mage began to stand taller, her body less burdened by the chain armor encasing it. Her breathing began to even out, sounding less like she had completed running a race and more like she was taking a stroll through the paths of Vigil's Keep.

"That's it," Lhiannon encouraged, watching as Raelyn kept channeling her power, the gentle feel of magic swirling about her like an invisible shroud. "Now, pull your sword and hold it in your hand. Once it's settled in your hand, enchant it with fire while continuing to channel your magic into strength."

Loghain entered the doorway as he heard Lhiannon's voice fade, fascinated by the sight before him. He had witnessed Lhiannon gather her arcane power countless times; it had become second nature for her and as she became more adept with armor and sword, there were times Loghain nearly forgot Lhiannon was a mage. That is until she buried Spellweaver into an enemy and quickly followed up with a bolt of lightning. That particular maneuver felled many a powerful enemy and served to remind everyone that the woman bearing such heavy armor and wielding such a powerful sword was indeed a mage. She carried with her the element of surprise, a tactical advantage that pleased Loghain.

Loghain moved into the training room, passing the mages and going to where he kept a practice set of leather armor and sword on a stand at the back of the room for when he felt the need or urge to work up a sweat and vent frustrations. He donned the armor, thinking this would be an opportune time to show Raelyn just what she could become if she followed Lhiannon's path as an arcane warrior. Loghain scoffed inwardly at the irony of his thoughts; he had been well known as one who rarely trusted in mages or their powers, a position he had held for the majority of his life. Now he not only trusted magic—at least where one particular mage was concerned—but he was encouraging Lhiannon to train mages in the arcane arts. The Maker seemed to have an endless supply of humor, much of it seemingly directed at him.

The mages stopped when Loghain came to their side and politely cleared his throat. Lhiannon gave him a broad smile, the smile that always made Loghain's knees weak. When he told her his news from Denerim and Gwaren, he imagined that smile may get just a little brighter and he found himself looking forward to such a smile.

_First thing's first, however. _"Would you be interested in sparring with your Second, Commander?" Loghain asked Lhiannon, a wry grin crossing his features. "I thought a demonstration of your abilities may be of interest to Raelyn and serve as incentive for her to continue training."

Lhiannon shrugged, a mischievous grin lighting her features. "Only if you're interested in taking a beating today. I haven't sparred in some time, thanks to my injury, and a good thrashing will do me wonders," she grinned, her brows rising as she cast a glance at Raelyn. The mage snickered, backing to stand near the wall to observe the Grey Wardens' battle. She had heard of their duel at the Landsmeet and how Lhiannon had defeated Loghain with little more than a long dagger and magic, and that was before she had become a full arcane warrior. Had she been a full warrior, Raelyn imagined that the duel at the Landsmeet would not have been nearly as long as the tales claim it was.

Loghain snorted, his grin shrinking to just an upward tick of the corner of his mouth and a brow lifting upward in amusement. "All that time away from training has likely made your skills dull, Commander. I look forward to reeducating you."

The grin dropped from Loghain's face as he began to stalk in a circle around Lhiannon, his sword held in both hands before him, eyeing her like a hungry predator. Lhiannon drew Spellweaver from her scabbard, likewise holding it in both hands in front of her as she circled away from Loghain. As Raelyn watched, she felt a small amount of magical energy begin to swirl around Lhiannon, barely enough to be detected by even an experienced mage. Lhiannon's face turned to stone, hardened by concentration.

Loghain lunged forward, swinging his sword with both hands as Lhiannon raised hers to parry the blow. The sound of swords clashing echoed loudly in the training room, Lhiannon backing up slightly as she absorbed the crushing blow from Loghain's sword. Raelyn was momentarily alarmed; if Loghain was holding back at all, she had a feeling that it was only very, very little.

Lhiannon absorbed the blow from Loghain's sword, using the momentum from his blow to spin to the side and swing her sword toward his unprotected flank. He had quickly and easily anticipated her maneuver and moved to counter, deflecting her blow with little difficulty. He lowered his shoulder, growling and rushing toward her to knock her off her feet. Lhiannon leaped away at the last second but not quickly enough, taking a glancing hit that sent her stumbling, sword scraping along the ground. Loghain saw her stumble and quickly pressed his advantage, his sword moving so fast that Raelyn had trouble following the individual swings.

Lhiannon withstood the onslaught, blocking Loghain's swing without giving much in the way of ground before she began to slowly rebound against him. Loghain was forced to adopt a more defensive position, her speed making up for the size and weight disadvantage she held. She continued her swings, hoping that her speed would wear Loghain down before she herself tired. However, Loghain was still far more experienced in battle than Lhiannon and was able to meet her challenge, his parries patient and thoughtful, tiring little while blocking her fevered swings with ease_. Of course_, Lhiannon thought_, I'm in full armor while he's in practice leathers. He can afford to be patient while he waits for me to tire._

Raelyn observed from the sidelines, rapt fascination on her features as she watched the far smaller Lhiannon hold her ground with the taller, stronger, and more intimidating Loghain. _If the arcane warrior arts make me even a fraction as adept as Lhiannon, sign me up_. Raelyn smiled inwardly to herself; learning these skills would give her an advantage over any templar that may eventually seek her out.

A thought suddenly dawned on her. Grey Wardens were historically beyond the reach of the templars and Chantry, especially if the Right of Conscription was used to garner their services. The Chantry would occasionally try to usurp that authority—as they had tried to do recently—but Raelyn believed they would face a much lower chance of success in that endeavor, especially in Ferelden. Especially when the King himself was a Grey Warden; perhaps not an actively practicing member of the order, but one did not simply stop being a Grey Warden. The King would not allow a conscripted member of the Grey Wardens to be turned over to the tender mercies of the Chantry.

As Raelyn watched Lhiannon and Loghain continue sparring, she decided to take this day to ponder the question of becoming a Grey Warden. What better way to thank the Commander for her new skills than to join her order and help defend Ferelden? What better way to thumb her nose at the templars and Chantry? Binding herself to the Grey Wardens was a better alternative than being forced into subjugation by the Chantry. She would be reluctant to leave Teagan's service, but she felt deep in her gut that _this_ was her calling. Fate, it seemed, pushed her into Teagan's service to bring her to this moment.

Loghain was in full attack mode now, powerfully swinging his sword at Lhiannon, who was beginning to buckle from the pressure of the onslaught. Her sword shook in her hands, sending prickles of pain up her hands and arms. An opening had to be found soon or Loghain would be victorious. She had sparred with Loghain long enough to know that on any given day, either one of them could be victorious. Lhiannon gritted her teeth; she was _not_ about to let Loghain win this match, not if she wanted Raelyn to see how beneficial and powerful the arcane arts could be. Channeling what power she had left in reserve, Lhiannon deflected Loghain's latest blow, using his power and momentum to whirl her to the side where she kicked out, her foot landing on the side of his legs and causing him to stumble, a grunt of surprise escaping his lips. Lhiannon saw her opening, lowering her shoulder and charging into Loghain's side, knocking him off his feet and onto his back. He scrambled to stand but she quickly stood over him, her sword pointed at his throat as she panted heavily above him. Loghain's eyes flicked to the sword, his breath coming in great gasps as he chuckled, the rumble bringing a smile to Lhiannon's face.

"Very well, Commander. I yield. This time." He turned his head to where Raelyn stood along the wall, nodding and grinning at the sight of the Warden Commander holding her Second at her mercy. "This is what you can learn, mage. Take the Commander's knowledge and become stronger for it."

"Thank you, Warden." Nodding, Raelyn turned her attention to Lhiannon. "And thank you, Commander, for the entertaining and educating display." She then turned and left the training room, moving through the halls and toward the guesthouse. The contemplation she had to do would best be done in the solitude of her room at the guest house. The practice armor could be returned later.

Lhiannon watched Raelyn leave the room, then gasped when she suddenly found herself pulled to the ground, laying at Loghain's side where he pressed a hard, passionate kiss to her lips. The sweat from his lips mingled with hers, the salty taste of his skin causing Lhiannon to moan softly into Loghain's mouth as she let go of Spellweaver and carefully wrapped her armored arms around his neck. His fingers found her braided hair, loosening the tie that held it in place so he could bury his hands in her tresses and feel the softness of her locks. They kissed each other on the floor of the training room, their exertion, aches, and bruises forgotten in their passionate embrace. Lhiannon grinned inwardly to herself; Loghain always got this way after they sparred.

Loghain reluctantly pulled his lips away, gathering his breath as he moved to a crossed leg sitting position. He unfastened the straps holding Lhiannon's breast and backplates in place, gently placing them to the side before settling Lhiannon into the space between his thighs and wrapping his arms around her now unarmored waist. Lhiannon settled back into him as she removed her gauntlets, her bare hands finding his and her fingers twisting within his own. He bent his head forward, his nose lightly touching her tresses; he closed his eyes and breathed in, the light scent of lilac soap and the gentle touch of her hair tickling his senses.

"I thought you would like to hear about the missives that arrived from Denerim and Gwaren today," Loghain began, moving his head to rest his chin on top of Lhiannon's head.

"If it means more work for me, then no, I don't," Lhiannon scoffed, a small chuckle escaping her lips, her thumbs lightly brushing the skin of Loghain's hands. "I have enough to keep me busy, thank you very much."

Loghain chuckled in response, the vibrations moving through his chest and into Lhiannon's back. She closed her eyes, content to stay within his lap for a few moments before returning to the work that was no doubt piling up on her desk again. "Unless you call a wedding work…" Loghain began, his voice drifting off. He chuckled as Lhiannon turned her head up to look up at him from the corner of her eye, her brows furrowing in what looked like disbelief.

"The wedding?" she asked, her interest piqued. "You heard back from Alistair and Anora? And Cauthrien?"

"Indeed. They will all be here in three weeks. We can be married within the month."

"What about Highever? Have you heard back from Fergus Cousland?"

Loghain shook his head, a slightly darker look crossing his features. "No, Cousland has not responded as of yet. No matter; we can go on with the ceremony without him. I just thought it practical to inform him, since I will become his vassal upon our marriage."

"He'll answer, eventually, I'm sure," Lhiannon said, settling back against Loghain's chest once more. Lhiannon paused, a small whistle escaping her lips. "A _month_. I suppose I should practice spelling your name, since I'll be taking it for my own in only a month."

"I should say so," Loghain snorted, moving to stand and pulling Lhiannon to her feet in one smooth gesture. "I'll not have you botch official paperwork because you've had to scribble out an incorrect spelling."

* * *

It was with a sense of profound melancholy that Nathaniel set himself and their altered scouting party back on the road to Vigil's Keep after spending several days within the town of South Reach, resting and resupplying. They were returning to Vigil's Keep with fewer of Maverlies' scouts, the men killed by the darkspawn ambush near where the breach was located. However, if there was any good to be had, it was that the ranks of the Grey Wardens had increased by two. Cris was still feeling a little weak after the Joining, needing Jowan to cast healing and rejuvenation spells on him on a semi regular basis. He felt better than he did several days ago when they left the Dalish camp and after spending time in an actual bed—within the walls of South Reach—he felt far better than he did previously. Both Jowan and Nathaniel assured Cris that by the time they reached Vigil's Keep, he would be completely recovered and ready to resume normal activities.

Anwen had also survived the Joining; Nathaniel thought that was by sheer stubbornness and force of will alone. When she had consumed the darkspawn blood, Anwen had remained conscious and coherent long enough to try and vomit up the vile liquid. She had not succeeded, but it spoke volumes about her obstinacy. She spoke to no one after she awoke from unconsciousness; she was angry, bitter, and anguished that her twin, Hadyn, had not survived. A Dalish funeral was held the evening before the scouting party left for South Reach. Anwen had refused to entertain thoughts of leaving the Dalish to accompany the _shemlens_ back to Vigil's Keep, Grey Warden or not, and a private conversation between Nathaniel and Keeper Lanaya was convened. Taking Anwen to Vigil's Keep at this time would likely cause a great deal of dissention; her absolute hatred for humans was nearly insurmountable. Nathaniel and Lanaya discussed Anwen at length in private and it had been decided that perhaps the best place for her, for the time being, was with the Dalish. With Urthemiel's breach not far away, the camp would likely be constantly harried by roving bands of darkspawn and having a Grey Warden in their midst would be beneficial. Nathaniel knew that the Grey Wardens—with Lhiannon leading the way—would be back in this part of Ferelden soon. Lhiannon and Lanaya could discuss at that time what the elf's fate would be.

"However, Keeper," Nathaniel began, crossing his hands over his chest, "the Commander will likely want Anwen to return to Vigil's Keep before long. It is where she needs to be as a new Grey Warden. You will need to prepare her for that; Anwen needs to learn to work with humans and dwarves. The Commander will not suffer such bigotry for long."

"I understand your position, Warden, but you must consider history," Lanaya nodded, shifting her staff from hand to hand. "Anwen has a terrible view of humans, even more than most Dalish. She took to heart many of Zathrian's stories about the misdeeds of humans against our people." Lanaya sighed softly. "I have tried to temper the glaringly negative stereotypes the Dalish have against humans, but the past transgressions refuse to die."

Nathaniel snorted. "The Chantry does little to help the elves too; being herded into alienages and depicted as little more than heathen savages helps none. However, the Dalish need to meet humans halfway in order for true progress to be made. The Commander is open minded and will treat Anwen with respect; that, however, is a two way street. Anwen must also be willing to put the past aside and work toward a future with the Grey Wardens. The Commander is a stickler for duty and will not tolerate her shirking any duties among the Wardens because a human is giving them."

Lanaya had assured Nathaniel before he left the Dalish camp that she would do her best to help prepare Anwen for the eventual journey to Vigil's Keep as a show of appreciation and thanks for leaving a Grey Warden behind to help keep them safe from the darkspawn. Nathaniel thought Lanaya had her work cut out for her. He also was not looking forward to explaining this to the Commander, why a new Grey Warden was not joining her comrades as Vigil's Keep.

Though it had been just less than a month since they had set out from Vigil's Keep, it felt to Nathaniel as if a lifetime had passed, a lifetime full of disappointment and heartache that outweighed the success of the mission. It had been his first sojourn away from Vigil's Keep, leading his own party of scouts on a mission for the Warden Commander and he would be returning with fewer men than he left with. _So much for all that training in the Free Marches to prepare me to lead men, my father's or otherwise._ Nathaniel rubbed his aching forehead with his gloved hand, grimacing at the tenderness of the skin and at how the light further intensified the ache. Was it his aspiration to impress the Warden Commander and show that he was fully capable of leading men part of what led to the disasterous outcome of the darkspawn ambush? Could more have been done to protect everyone? Did he inherit the idiot ambition of his father? Nathaniel grimaced; the last thing he needed was any sort of comparison to Rendon Howe.

A warm wash of magic descended upon him, lessening the pounding in his temples and the pressure behind his eyes. Turning his head to the side, Nathaniel saw Jowan riding next to him with a hand outstretched, having gently kicked his horse forward to fall into stride next to him. With a sigh, Nathaniel nodded his thanks to Jowan.

"Are you all right?" Jowan asked, his brows furrowing at the weary look on Nathaniel's face. It looked as if Nathaniel had aged a decade or better in the time they had been away from Vigil's Keep.

"No, not really," Nathaniel sighed, shaking his head once. "I can't help but feel that in my first mission in command, I let the Commander and Loghain down." Nathaniel slammed a fist into his other gloved hand, the reins jerking slightly and causing his horse to nicker in response. "Dammit, Jowan; this mission was supposed to come back with everyone we left with, not with less than what we started out with."

"We have two new Wardens though," Jowan said quietly, glancing ahead to where a still slightly pale Cris rode. "That's a good thing, right?"

With a scoff, Nathaniel slashed his hand through the air in irritation. "Wardens are supposed to be recruited, not Joined because they were tainted." He sighed heavily, dropping his head slightly before continuing. "Of course, I'm glad to bring two more recruits into the ranks of the Grey Wardens, but it still doesn't help ease the pain of losing some of Maverlies' men. We found the breach, but that will be little comfort to the families of those we lost."

"Then we'll just have to make sure those men's deaths have meaning," Jowan said emphatically. "They died in service of Ferelden and the Grey Wardens. By sealing the breach and driving the darkspawn back to their pits, we can make sure their deaths weren't in vain."

* * *

_A/N: All the Wardens will be back together again next chapter...one big happy family._

_Arsinoe: I took your review from a few chapters ago and changed up a large chunk of this chapter. Originally, Anwen was going to come back to the Vigil, but your review made far more sense to me the more I thought about it. So, Anwen gets a bit of a reprieve; having a Warden stay with the Dalish, given their proximity to the breach, wasn't a bad idea (in my head anyway). So, I went with that.  
_

_No more business trips to Minneapolis until the middle of next month...yay! I may keep with the one chapter per week schedule for the time being, as I need to get cranking on future chapters (and play DA2 some more). Plus, all you Cheeky Monkeys keep throwing challenges out there; they are fun though!_

_Speaking of Cheeky Monkey challenges, I have a new one-shot posted, **What I Found in a Warden**. It has a little bit of plot and some F!Hawke/Loghain smut._

_Thanks to reviewers Shakespira (no keyboards, saran wrap, or telescopes were harmed in the writing of this chapter), icey, Aura of Darkness Night, Arsinoe (and many thanks for the inspiration), Tyanilth (the evil triplet), JackOfBladesX, and Kira Tamarion. You reviewers are what keep me going, so please keep the reviews coming.  
_

_Thanks as well to all the readers!  
_


	20. Home Again

"That's it Raelyn, cast your spell while defending; with your sword drawn," Lhiannon shouted, bringing her blunted sword down toward Raelyn with an overhead swing. Both women were in full armor and wielding blunted swords; Lhiannon in her full Warden Commander armor while Raelyn in Lhiannon's ancient elven armor set. It had been doing little more than gathering dust in her and Loghain's quarters, so Lhiannon thought it a better use to have Raelyn wear it; if she liked it, Lhiannon saw no reason to not give it to her fellow mage and arcane warrior in training. Master Wade, at Lhiannon's request, had temporarily adjusted the armor to fit Raelyn's slighter taller frame; should she decide to keep the armor, it could be permanently adjusted. Wade had begun to bemoan the age of the armor and the metal it was made of, but with one very stern look from the Commander, he held his tongue, much to the delight of his partner Herren.

Lhiannon had been training Raelyn for a number of days now, impressed at the progress the determined mage was making. Lhiannon could only teach so much when it came to swordcraft; if Raelyn needed or wanted more thorough instruction, she would need to take further lessons from Loghain. In the meantime, however, Lhiannon was teaching Raelyn how to cast her spells while under direct melee attack. They had taken their training to the open grounds outside the Vigil itself where they could cast spells without danger of inadvertently injuring others or causing damage to the Keep itself. Even the most seasoned mage could have spells go awry on occasion.

With a grunt of exertion, Raelyn deflected Lhiannon's downward blow, knocking the sword off to the side. She quickly backed away, muttering a spell under her breath, low enough in volume where Lhiannon could not hear what spell Raelyn was casting. Raising her sword in front of her, Lhiannon stalked toward the mage, preparing to take another swing when a bright glow settled on the ground at Raelyn's feet and threw Lhiannon back with enough force to drop her on her back, driving the breath from her lungs as she hit the ground.

_Ah ha, a glyph of repulsion,_ Lhiannon thought to herself, grimacing and forcing herself to calm so she could begin taking wheezing, shallow breaths again. _Cheeky girl, she's learning quickly._

Raelyn saw Lhiannon sprawled out on the ground and moved closer seeking to quickly end this round of sparring with her sword pointed at Lhiannon's throat. Victories against the Warden Commander came infrequently, but they _were_ coming. Most were lucky victories and Raelyn suspected that the Commander was going _very _easy on her and allowing victories to build her confidence, but a victory was a victory and she would take what she could get. The Commander was taking shallow breaths with a grimace on her face, lips slowly moving, watching warily as Raelyn stalked closer with her weapon brandished in front of her.

As Raelyn closed the distance between them, her body was quickly caught up in a tight vice squeezing her to the point of discomfort while lifting her slightly off the ground. Breathing became more difficult as the invisible vice squeezed her chest and torso relentlessly. She scoffed to herself. _Dammit! The crushing prison; why didn't I think of that? _Shifting her eyes to the Commander, Raelyn finally saw the subtle, languorous movements of her hands and fingers as she wove the spell.

Lhiannon stood as Raelyn was held helpless in the telekinetic prison, taking her time as she held the other mage in the grasp of the spell with seemingly effortless motion. A slow, knowing grin spread across Raelyn's face as Lhiannon brought the tip of her blunted sword to Raelyn's throat. Lhiannon slowly released the spell, gently setting Raelyn back on her feet, the point of the sword hovering just below her chin. As the magical energies faded, the squeezing sensation ebbed and Raelyn could take a deep breath once again. "At least I made it interesting, Commander."

"You most certainly did," Lhiannon grinned, turning suddenly at movement out of the corner of her eye. Loghain was moving swiftly across the open field, wearing his full Warden armor and securing his sword in place. Lhiannon and Raelyn shared a glance before Lhiannon began to move toward Loghain at a trot, training sword held out to the side, the tail end of her braided hair bobbing along the plates of her armor behind her head. As she closed the gap between them, Lhiannon sensed a type of urgency from him; not an overly negative urgency, but urgency nonetheless.

"Loghain, what is it?" Lhiannon called out, watching as Loghain looked up once his sword was finally secured in place. He was not running, but his long strides were covering more ground than Lhiannon's light trot. He stopped as Lhiannon drew close, watching as Raelyn jogged to catch up with them both.

"An advance rider from Nathaniel's scouting party has just arrived," Loghain said, his eyes flicking between Lhiannon and Raelyn before resting solidly on Lhiannon's dark eyes. "The party will be here before midafternoon."

The information should have been cause for excitement, but the feeling of urgency emanating from Loghain tempered any anticipation Lhiannon may have felt building. Nodding, she began to move toward the Vigil, Loghain falling into step beside her and Raelyn just behind him. "We shall have the Wardens assemble on the steps of the Vigil just before the expedition arrives," Lhiannon said, her breath coming faster as she moved to keep up with Loghain's long strides. "Have Garavel and Varel meet us there as well. We shall give the returning party a warm welcome and have a feast this night."

"Shall I have Teagan, Trent, and I assemble there as well?" Raelyn asked, jogging into place at Lhiannon's side and sending her a sidelong glance. Lhiannon nodded once, turning to meet Raelyn's steady gaze. "Absolutely; I wouldn't think of leaving our guests out of this. I suggest you dress in your finery. We don't often have the chance to share in such fellowship and I would not waste the opportunity."

With an acknowledging nod, Raelyn moved off toward the guest house Teagan and his entourage shared. As she and Loghain continued toward the Vigil, Lhiannon sensed that there was something more troubling him than just the expedition's return. She turned her head and studied his profile closely, seeing Loghain's eyes slightly narrowed and his jaw clenched tightly. He stared straight ahead, his concentration locked onto the Vigil itself.

"What vexes you, Loghain?" Lhiannon asked as they drew close to a rear door of Vigil's Keep, a door that led to a hallway just off the kitchens and larder. Loghain stopped before they entered, his icy gaze meeting Lhiannon's own concerned one. Loghain shook his head slightly, looking off toward the south and the direction that the scouting party would be arriving from.

"There is trouble with the scouting party," he said simply, his voice low so that anyone that may be nearby would not overhear him.

Lhiannon looked at Loghain, her brows furrowing and a look of concern crossing her features. "What makes you think that?" she asked, her voice equally low. "Did the scout say something?"

"Not in so many words," Loghain said, shaking his head slightly. His gaze remained turned to the south for another moment before he turned and faced Lhiannon directly. "I have commanded men a long time, Lhiannon. A commander develops a type of instinct for these things. The man carried himself…" Loghain paused, considering his words carefully, "…heavily. Like a man who has seen too much."

A yawning pit opened in Lhiannon's stomach, threatening to pull her entire being into it. "Do you think something has happened?" she asked, her voice low and tentative.

Loghain met her eyes once more, his expression frank. He saw the apprehension and worry settle into the planes of her face. "It's not a case of 'if' something has happened. It's 'what'."

* * *

A gentle breeze was blowing into Lhiannon's face as she stood at the top of the steps of Vigil's Keep, her Wardens, officers, and guests gathered on the steps below her. Loghain stood on the step below her and to the right, his greater height still eclipsing hers as she stood on the step above him. The breeze lightly ruffled her hair, blowing several loosened wisps around her face. She carefully raised an armored hand and brushed the wayward strands away, mindful that she did not scratch her face in the process. A second scout had arrived moments before, heralding the approach of the scouting party. He need not have bothered; the thunder of hoof beats and groaning of cart wheels turning began to rise in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment.

It was only moments later when Lhiannon saw the first soldiers from the scouting party enter the walls of Vigil's Keep, moving toward the stables to have the horses tended to. The first riders rounded a corner near the stables, disappearing out of sight. About halfway through the pack was the first of the Grey Wardens; Jowan looked toward the steps of the Vigil and raised a hand in greeting. Lhiannon raised her hand in turn, watching as the riders continued to stream toward the stables.

Nathaniel entered a moment later, followed by a supply cart carrying the dwarves. Maverlies and Cris followed not long after, heading up the last of the soldiers. Lhiannon found herself frowning; clearly, there were fewer soldiers returning than had left Vigil's Keep a number of weeks before. She felt a pit open in her stomach and her heart seemingly doubled its weight, threatening to sink into the yawning hole to be swallowed up. Feeling a small, unfamiliar flicker in the taint, Lhiannon turned her eyes toward Loghain, who was studying the stables intently, concentrating heavily on the building before them. Lhiannon followed Loghain's gaze to the stables, trying to discern what had Loghain's attention so raptly focused on it. It dawned on her at the same time Loghain's dark brows shot skyward in surprise.

Lhiannon leaned closer to Loghain's ear, speaking softly into it. "A new Warden," Lhiannon murmured, her voice low and breath brushing against his braided lock, causing it to move gently next to his skin. He acknowledged her with a brief, curt nod; he had recognized it as well. As they spoke, their eyes trained on the stables, Nathaniel rounded the corner with the other Grey Wardens—and Cris—in tow. The new, unfamiliar feeling in the taint was focused completely on the man from Rainesfere. Lhiannon found herself most anxious to hear Nathaniel's story.

She watched as Nathaniel led the Grey Wardens up the steps of the Vigil, between the ranks of those gathered to greet them. Nathaniel stopped before Lhiannon, nodding his head slightly, hands clasped behind his back.

"Welcome home, Warden Nathaniel," Lhiannon said, returning Nathaniel's nod. Reaching out, she pulled Nathaniel to her in a hug, mindful of the edges of her armor against the light leather Nathaniel wore. She felt his hands settle onto the armor plates covering her back. "I am glad to see you again," she breathed into Nathaniel's ear. Nathaniel returned the hug for a moment before stepping back, his hands taking hers and holding them gently. "I am glad to be home, as are all the others. I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say it is good to see you on your feet again."

After squeezing his hands once, Lhiannon released Nathaniel, who stepped back before she turned to where Cris stood a step behind him and just ahead of Jowan, Oghren, and Sigrun. She held out a hand. "Welcome to the Grey Wardens, Warden Crispin."

Cris nodded once, a look of mild confusion crossing his features as he took Lhiannon's hand and shook it. "Thank you, Commander." Lhiannon watched as a corner of his mouth turned upward slightly. "I'm still a little taken aback by these new senses." Lhiannon watched as he grimaced slightly. "The dreams are a bit disconcerting as well."

"You'll learn to interpret your new senses, in time. The dreams, however, may take longer to cope with. In any case, I'm interested in the tale that brought you into our fold," Lhiannon said to him before looking past him to where Sergeant Maverlies was greeting Captain Garavel, a troubled look on her face. Lhiannon gestured toward the doors of the Vigil with her hand. "Come, everyone. There will be a feast for us shortly. I welcome all of you home."

She turned and looked once more at Nathaniel, sensing that there was more to the story that just a new Grey Warden and a smaller number of soldiers that returned. In a way, Lhiannon found him much like Loghain, seeking to bury his feelings and troubles behind a steely exterior. She had not needed the taint to sense the concern and worry just under the surface of Nathaniel's neutral expression. "Clearly," she said to Nathaniel, her voice soft so that only the nearby Wardens could hear, "there is much to be discussed."

* * *

"You performed the Joining on one of the Dalish?" Lhiannon asked, her eyes narrowing at Nathaniel as she studied him carefully; she could feel Nathaniel's anxiety beginning to tick up a notch. "What happened to her? I only felt one new Warden's presence when your party arrived."

Nathaniel held Lhiannon's gaze and fought to keep his rising anxiety in check, his expression neutral and readying himself for some sort of rebuke. "She has remained behind with Keeper Lanaya at the Dalish Camp."

"So you left this new Grey Warden with the Dalish?" Loghain curtly asked, setting down his tankard of ale with an audible thump and giving Nathaniel a piercing stare. Their dinner plates had been cleared away by a passing servant as they lingered in the dining hall, most of the other parties having drifted away to leave the Grey Wardens to themselves. Loghain's heavy thump of the tankard on the table would surely have rattled any nearby dishes. "Are all newly Joined Grey Wardens allowed to choose where they will be stationed?"

Lhiannon held up a hand to Loghain, who scoffed and shook his head slightly. She then turned her attention to Nathaniel. "Why did you leave a Warden behind, Nathaniel? You realize that this sets a precedent I _do not_ want to have swirling about the Ferelden Grey Wardens," Lhiannon said quietly, her dark eyes focused on Nathaniel, a hard gaze holding him trapped. "New Wardens need to be with other Wardens, if only to learn how to cope with the dreams and interpret the new senses." She shook her head, sighing in exasperation before continuing. "There is a chain of command here and though I don't have as much command experience as others here, I know the importance of that chain. She is _a part_ of that chain, not apart from it." Lhiannon paused, her eyes narrowing slightly and fingernail tapping the table. "Just _why_ does this Warden deserve special treatment?"

Nathaniel sighed, gripping his tankard with both hands as he looked between Loghain and Lhiannon, his own glare nearly as piercing. "Commander, Loghain, believe me when I say that Anwen would cause more problems at Vigil's Keep than we all need right now." Nathaniel picked up his tankard, draining the last of the liquid in a long draw before setting it back on the table again with a small thud. "Anwen has an extreme hatred of and prejudice against humans. I charged Keeper Lanaya with preparing her for the journey to Vigil's Keep after we seal the breach in the Brecilian Forest."

"Then why did you even have her submit to the Joining?" Loghain asked, not bothering to hide the harshness in his voice. "As cruel as this may sound, perhaps it would have been best to…give her peace. If she will be little more than a disease in our ranks, perhaps that would have been the best path."

"That's rather cold," Nathaniel scoffed, though somehow not surprised by the taciturn Warden's words.

Loghain held up a finger, emphasizing his point. "But it is a hard decision a commander must make; if you are to command men, you must learn this. Commanders have little luxury regarding such matters; that type of discord cannot be allowed to foster within the ranks of any army, let alone the Grey Wardens."

Nathaniel glared at Loghain, tapping his finger on the tabletop in emphasis. "She is a talented scout and tracker, Loghain. She also happens to be one of the few Dalish that can unerringly lead us to Urthemiel's breach." His gaze flicked to Lhiannon briefly, seeing her neutral gaze as she followed the argument. "The Dalish are often harried by darkspawn bands and having a Grey Warden there gives them an advantage and helps them protect themselves; it also gives the elves that are skeptical of humans a reason to look favorably on us."

"She had better get over her prejudices against humans, or at least be able to work around them," Lhiannon remarked from Loghain's side, tapping a fingernail on the top of the table in emphasis. "I won't have a Warden here causing dissention and eroding morale. She can hate humans all she wants, so long as it doesn't interfere with her duties as a Grey Warden."

Sigrun gave a slight shrug from where she sat on Lhiannon's other side, drawing the attention of the Wardens around them to her. "Anwen was polite enough to me; then again, she doesn't have any strong feelings for dwarves."

"That is part of the reason why I had her remain with Lanaya and the Dalish," Nathaniel said, gesturing with his index finger in emphasis. "Not only will Lanaya impress upon her the importance of the Grey Wardens to the Dalish—regardless of race—I thought it wise to have a Grey Warden remain with the Dalish to warn them of darkspawn incursions, since they are so close to the breach. She was the only real choice."

"That sodding breach is only a few hours walk away from their camp," Oghren added, settling down onto the bench at the table, a tankard of ale in each hand. He took a sip from first the one in his right hand, then the one in his left. He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the ale. "I'm glad that it was her left behind rather than me; I don't think I could have handled more than a few minutes with those tree huggers."

The Wardens sat silent for a moment, eyes moving between the Commander and her Second as they pondered what Nathaniel had told them. Lhiannon took a small draw off her tankard of ale before turning her gaze to Nathaniel once more. "You haven't given me reason to doubt your judgment before, Nate. Regardless, Anwen will be coming back to Vigil's Keep once we seal the breach, whether she's ready or not. I would have preferred that you consulted with me first; in the future, that is what you will do before making such a decision."

As Lhiannon finished her thought, Loghain turned toward the newest Grey Warden seated across from him. "Tell us how you came to take the Joining."

Cris turned his attention from his plate, where he had been shifting his now cold meat and potatoes from one side to the other, to Loghain, who looked at him with a firm stare. Cris shrugged. "There wasn't a whole lot of choice in the matter. Anwen was threatening Nathaniel with a dagger when he said her twin wouldn't survive the Joining. I tried to pull her away from Nathaniel and she scratched at my face with her fingers." He turned his head slightly to show Loghain the three parallel marks on the left side of his face, the fading wounds from Anwen's attack. "She was already tainted and her attack transferred the taint to me." Cris' voice drifted off, growing melancholy for a moment before his continued.

"The taint was quickly taking my mind from me. It felt like a burning fever all throughout my body and I could feel blind rage building within me. There was nothing I could do to stop it. It had already begun taking my humanity from me; it was either take the chance with the Joining and have a small shot at surviving, turn into a ghoul, or have one of the Grey Wardens kill me swiftly." Cris paused once again, picking up his tankard of ale and staring into the depths of the amber liquid. "The Joining—a death sentence in its own right—was the best chance of survival; how ironic is that?" Cris gave a snort before bringing the tankard to his lips and taking a long draw. The new Warden heard a reciprocating snort from Loghain.

"Ironic, indeed," Loghain agreed.

"There was nothing we could do for Hadyn, Anwen's brother," Jowan added. "The taint roared through his body; I've never seen anything move that fast."

"The effects of the taint differ with every person, obviously," Lhiannon nodded, resting her chin in her hands as her gaze flitted between the Wardens; all of them were gathered nearby. It was time to learn about that which required the expedition in the first place. "Tell us of the breach. What did you see?"

"Other than Howe's arse at the top of a tree?" Oghren snickered, taking a draw from the tankard in his left hand; the one in his right was long since empty.

Loghain's brow furrowed as his gaze turned from Oghren to Nathaniel. "A tree?" he asked, his voice nonplussed.

Nathaniel snorted, a cheeky grin crossing his face. "It was the only way to see the breach. The area around it is teeming with darkspawn and there was no way we could get any closer to it without more Wardens and supplies."

"And a whole cart of explosives," Jowan added

_The breach…they found the son of a bitch,_ Lhiannon thought to herself. The very place where the archdemon emerged to wreak havoc on the surface of Ferelden, right in the Brecilian Forest where they had speculated it would be found. "What did it look like?" she asked, her voice low and betraying the horrified awe she felt.

With a sigh, Nathaniel's gaze went off into the distance, searching his mind and memories for the words to do the horror of the landscape justice. "It is a rendering in the earth, an eruption of dirt and corruption that spreads in all directions." He paused a moment, remembering the unnerving climb up the half dead tree surrounded by thick tendrils of corruption. "The landscape around the breach is black and overrun with corruption; the strands hang from the trees and seem to reach out for you of their own accord."

Sigrun shivered slightly, her small hands gripping her tankard so tightly her knuckles were turning white. "I didn't go to the breach myself—Nathaniel asked me to stay behind with the Dalish—but from what I saw in the surrounding forest, the corruption was _way_ thick. Thicker even than near a broodmother pit in the Deep Roads, so you can imagine how bad it was."

"How large was the breach?" Lhiannon asked, reaching for the nearby pitcher of ale and refilling her tankard; she had a feeling that she may need yet another pitcher before this conversation was over.

Nathaniel shook his head. "I couldn't tell exactly how large it was from my vantage point. There were also a great many darkspawn surrounding it."

"I could hardly concentrate on spellcasting at times," Jowan added, rubbing his temple at the memory of the weariness caused by so much spellcasting and fighting. "The darkspawn were growing thicker as we got closer to the breach. There were just _so many_..."

Loghain's gaze passed between Nathaniel, Jowan, and Oghren, studying them before he spoke. "Can you estimate how many darkspawn were there?" Loghain's mind kept turning back to his first encounter with darkspawn years ago in the Deep Roads near Ortan thaig. The creatures had come from seemingly nowhere, snarling and gnashing their teeth as they advanced, the blades of their small party barely able to hold the creatures at bay. They had been very near to being overrun when Nalthur and the Legion of the Dead arrived to save their skins. This time, Loghain knew, there would be no rescue if the darkspawn threatened to overrun them. Perhaps he would need to procure a great many explosive packets from Dworkin the Mad after all; that and perhaps all the lyrium in Amaranthine for the mages.

Lhiannon turned her gaze to Loghain, seeing the concentration on his features and could almost hear the thoughts turning in his mind, already planning tactics for their inevitable journey to the depths of the Brecialian Forest. When she turned her attention back to Nathaniel, the dread she saw on his face made the impossibly large chasm that was her stomach grow even larger.

Nathaniel turned to look at Jowan and Oghren, a silent communication passing between the three. Jowan nodded, as if in encouragement. Nathaniel took a deep breath, his gaze falling once again on his commanders.

"More than I have seen in one place. _Ever_."

* * *

_The Wardens are all back together again, so now planning can start to close that darned breach. They can't leave that open for the darkspawn to just come and go as they please._

_Loads of thanks go out to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, Arsinoe, JackOfBladesX, and Tyanilth. You guys are what help keep me going (and keep me on the straight and narrow...unless, of course, there's a wayward bus involved). :p  
_

_Thanks as well to you lurkers; I appreciate you taking a few minutes out of your day for my tale. I'd love to hear from you too!  
_


	21. Wishes and Wants

Teagan walked the paths of Vigil's Keep after the dinner with the Grey Wardens, hoping the movement and gentle exercise would calm his agitated mind. He and his people had been at Vigil's Keep for a number of weeks now, beneficiaries of the generous hospitality of the Grey Wardens and the Arling of Amaranthine. Raelyn was fitting in nicely with the other mages, learning the arcane arts from the Warden Commander herself. Cris, Teagan knew, would be remaining behind; he was a Grey Warden now and as much as it pained him, Cris' place was here. Trent was working with Captain Garavel, working to keep Teagan's modest supply of men armed and battle ready. Teagan himself felt lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty and uselessness. Drifting about Vigil's Keep without a purpose ate away at him. Teagan was accustomed to running a noble house; a small house, but not without work or people to care for. As he walked the grounds of the Vigil and watched the daily life of the residents unfold before him, he thought about what he could do to contribute. Nothing of substance was coming to mind and it grated on his nerves.

His mind, however, kept drifting back to one thing: the upcoming Landsmeet. With a little luck, his petition to the body regarding his upheaval from Rainesfere would be addressed. Eamon had seemingly gone mad; either that or he felt the need to openly challenge the power structure in Ferelden. It was something Teagan had difficulty understanding; to what end or purpose would engaging in such a power struggle serve? Ferelden had just barely survived both a Blight and a civil war and Eamon was still playing politics? Teagan surmised that Eamon had hoped for a malleable king in Alistair, someone who he could whisper 'advice' to in the hopes of having his—Eamon's—will be followed. That he challenged Queen Anora—who most everyone knew was the true power behind the throne when Cailan was alive—bothered Teagan. Cailan was family and part of Teagan felt betrayed by what had happened, but the truth of the matter was that while Cailan traipsed about Ferelden seeking the love and adoration of his people, Anora had been left behind to run the nation. As much as Eamon may be loath to admit it, Anora had done a fine job of it. However, that did not mean her father had been blameless during the uncertainty surrounding Cailan's death and the chaos that followed. Both Eamon and Loghain had done what they thought best to try and preserve Ferelden, causing war in the process. The fallout from the war still loomed large, even now. It likely would for the foreseeable future.

Teagan knew that the King intended to bring Eamon's actions during the civil war and Blight before the Landsmeet. There were a number of questions that needed answers; foremost among them was why Eamon insisted the darkspawn horde was heading to Redcliffe and not Denerim. Why did he seek to draw the bulk of the armies to Redcliffe? Why did he think the horde would ignore Denerim and the bulk of Ferelden's population in the east in favor of a battle in the more sparsely populated southwestern Ferelden? What reason could Eamon have had to concoct such a plan? Why had he not envisioned the horde's march to Denerim? If he did envision it, why did he ignore it?

It suddenly dawned on Teagan; there _was_ something he could do to lend a sense of purpose to his situation: he could travel to the Bannorn and determine just who could be counted on as allies to Teagan, the Grey Wardens, the Crown, and Lhiannon herself at the upcoming Landsmeet. Those of the Bannorn who were wavering in their support for the Crown, the Grey Wardens, and their allies could be presented evidence of Eamon's meddling and misdeeds so that they could make a decision as to who they would support at the Landsmeet. Some would certainly see Teagan as a jealous younger brother angry over the loss of his lands, but he had faith that those who knew him would be sympathetic to his plight once they learned the reasons for his removal from Rainesfere, for his troubles with Eamon were symptoms of a larger scheme with greater implications for both Redcliffe and Ferelden. Unity was needed, especially now in the wake of the devastation the Blight and civil war caused. The last thing Ferelden needed was opportunistic conquerors massing at their borders, seeking to take advantage of their weakness.

Teagan saw that his feet carried him to the guesthouse that Lhiannon had so generously given to him and his entourage when they arrived at Vigil's Keep weeks ago. He entered the door and as he closed it behind him, caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw that Raelyn was in the parlor of the home, her arms wrapped around her waist as she paced the room, her face pinched in concentration. Teagan saw that she was dressed in a simple tunic and pants, her hair pulled back behind her in a tail and a slight flush to her cheeks. Teagan remembered that she had been training with the Commander in the arcane arts this day, which would explain her unusually casual appearance. She had missed the dinner at the Vigil, but he had not given it much thought until now, seeing her agitation as she paced the room.

"Raelyn," Teagan asked, his brows furrowing and a hint of concern in his voice, "weren't you supposed to be training with the Warden Commander today?"

With a startled yelp, Raelyn turned to face Teagan, a hand coming to her chest as if she were trying to stop her heart from beating its way out of her chest. "Teagan, you startled me! I was completely lost in thought. Yes, I was training with the Warden Commander today."

"And you finished earlier? We missed you at dinner."

"I missed dinner? Damn it all. I lost track of time." Raelyn brought her hand down from her chest, her heart finally beginning to slow. "Yes, the Warden Commander showed me a few things and then Second Loghain arrived with the news that the scouting party was returning." Raelyn paused, holding her hands up in emphasis. "The Commander's abilities are amazing, Teagan. I know learning about them is the right thing for me…" Her voice drifted off, her eyes seeking the nearby window and gazing outside.

Teagan felt his brows knit together, watching as a troubled look crossed Raelyn's face. She appeared to be concentrating on something that weighed heavily on her mind. "What is it, Raelyn?" he quietly asked, walking to stand before his friend and placing a hand on her arm.

Teagan's light touch on her arm broke into Raelyn's thoughts, causing her to quickly jerk her head toward her lord and friend. She saw the questions and concerns in his eyes and knew that keeping her musings to herself would do both of them a disservice. She had to be honest with him. "Teagan, I'm seriously considering asking to join the Grey Wardens."

Lowering his arm, Teagan watched as Raelyn crossed the room and stood before a large picture window, her hand coming to rest on the smooth wooden frame. The window overlooked a small garden outside, lovingly tended to by groundskeeper Samuel, the elven man that was a staple in the gardens around Vigil's Keep. He had gently coaxed the spring flowers into early bloom, preparing a number of them for the upcoming wedding of the Warden Commander and her Second. Tulips and hyacinths were opening, ready to join the daffodils that had recently opened. The lilacs were also budding and Samuel was working on both coaxing them to open in time for the wedding and cutting some of the smaller bunches of buds to be used for infusing oils and perfumes for the Commander and her Second's special day. It was no secret to Samuel that the Commander loved lilacs.

"You wish to join the Grey Wardens?" Teagan asked quietly, moving to stand at Raelyn's side as she continued to gaze out the window. He turned to look at her and saw the resolve dawning on her features. Raelyn nodded slowly as she continued to look at the flowers blooming in the garden outside. Two; Teagan would lose two of his closest friends and advisors to the Grey Wardens. A lump formed in Teagan's throat and he pushed it aside with difficulty.

"I do, Teagan," she said, her nods slowing until her head remained still once more. "The Commander has gone out of her way to help us, offering us sanctuary and support in the wake of Eamon deposing you; offering to share her arcane knowledge with me. This is my way to thank her for all she's done for us."

Silence reigned in the room for several minutes as the friends continued to gaze out the window at the spring blooms. It was Teagan that broke the heavy silence. "Becoming a Grey Warden is a calling; a permanent calling that once done cannot be undone. The Joining is dangerous, Raelyn," Teagan said, turning to look at her straight on, the concern showing heavily on his pleasant face.

_Dangerous?_ Raelyn's brows furrowed, her face betraying her confusion. "What do you mean, dangerous?"

Teagan shook his head slowly, running his hand through his chestnut locks. "I was at the Landsmeet when Loghain was offered the Joining rather than execution." He paused, looking to choose his words carefully. "The Queen, Loghain's daughter, asked the senior Grey Warden in attendance to confirm that the Joining is often fatal. He did, in front of the entire Landsmeet." Teagan's eyes dropped, staring at the ground with a look of concern on his face. "I don't think the senior Warden was happy with such a revelation in front of an audience, but it had to be done; the King was ready to execute Loghain."

Stomach dropping, Raelyn slowly moved her head in Teagan's direction. "Fatal?" she whispered, scarcely believing it. "Becoming a Grey Warden is potentially _fatal_?"

Teagan put a hand on her shoulder, gently turning her so that she looked him directly in the eye. "You and I have been friends a long time, Raelyn. If this is what you really wish, I will not stop you, but I wished you to know the dangers you face and I ask you to seriously consider what it is you seek. I do not know much of the ritual other than it is extremely dangerous, and yes, fatal sometimes." Bringing his hand up to Raelyn's other shoulder, Teagan held her gently but firmly, his gaze boring into hers with a gentle intensity. "You have been a good friend and ally, and the thought of losing you is nearly too much to bear."

Silence again descended on the room, heavy and thick. Raelyn's gaze was focused on the floor, her gaze as far away as her thoughts. After several moments, she sighed lightly. "Thank you, Teagan," she whispered, emotion causing her words to thicken as she spoke. "Dangerous or not, I think this is something I need to do."

Raelyn closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the growing lump in her throat and the burn of tears behind her eyes that Teagan's words brought upon her. When she opened them again, Teagan's gaze had softened and a small smile crossed his features. "I will support you in all your endeavors, from now until the Maker parts us."

Squeezing her shoulders, Teagan caught Raelyn's gaze with his own and flashed her a warm smile; he was glad to see her return his smile with a small one of her own. "Well, in other matters, I've been thinking of traveling to the Bannorn to gauge support for our claims at the coming Landsmeet. I had hoped you would accompany me, but if you are seeking to be a Grey Warden, you'll likely need to remain here."

"Maybe, though, we can speak to the Commander about me accompanying you anyway," Raelyn said, her face beginning to brighten at the thought of being useful once again. She stepped back from Teagan, beginning to walk the room and gesture excitedly with her hands. "We know all too well that the darkspawn are still out in the countryside. She would likely want to send a Grey Warden with you, if only to warn you of the creatures. I know she is looking to take a number of Wardens with her to Denerim soon and likely needs to leave some here. It makes perfect sense for me to accompany you." She stopped suddenly, turning to Teagan with a look of high excitement on her face. "It's the perfect solution, Teagan. I can accompany you as a Grey Warden as you travel the Bannorn."

"But she may not want you to speak for Grey Warden matters, Raelyn," Teagan replied. "You would not be a senior Warden."

With a small shrug, Raelyn continued. "As long as I can keep you safe in your travels, that's all that matters to me. I'm sure that will be all that matters to the Commander as well. It's worth bringing to her attention."

* * *

"Commander, a word with you, if I may?"

Lhiannon looked up from her desk to see Teagan in her doorway, his hair still damp from a morning bath. The sun was just peeking through the windows of Vigil's Keep, still low in the sky and not clearing the distant treetops yet. Teagan had been up early indeed to have bathed, dressed, and arrived at the doorway to her office at this early hour. Then again, Lhiannon had been up early herself, though not necessarily by choice; Loghain was a notoriously early riser, up most days before even the roosters started crowing. Lhiannon had been a heavy sleeper before the Joining, but since then, sleep had become a precious commodity, light and fitful more often than not. Loghain's early rising to shave or bathe always woke Lhiannon well before dawn. She was glad that Anders had insisted that she improve her rejuvenation spells; his teachings had done wonders in the light of fitful sleep. Putting herself to sleep with a sleep spell made her uneasy, so she had opted for rejuvenation spells instead.

"Of course, Teagan," Lhiannon smiled, motioning to a chair across from her desk. "Have a seat."

As Teagan moved through the office, Lhiannon saw that his forehead was bunched, the lines pronounced and betraying the concerns that ran through her friend's mind. Lhiannon felt her own brow wrinkle in response. "Teagan, is something the matter?" she prompted quietly, watching as her friend settled himself in the chair across from her. Lhiannon reached for the carafe of tea that sat on her desk, pouring a cup and offering it to Teagan. He took the cup, nodding gratefully before taking a sip of the fragrant liquid, the warmth of the brew chasing the sudden chill he felt from his bones.

"You and the Grey Wardens have been most generous to us," Teagan began, running a finger over the rim of the cup, a slight rasping sound filling the emptiness in the room. "I, however, feel at a loss. I and my people have imposed on your generosity for longer than I had hoped."

"I am always willing to help a friend in need," Lhiannon said, leaning forward on her desk, resting on her elbows. "Always, Teagan. You need not concern yourself with being a burden…"

"But we _are_ a burden," Teagan interrupted as he sat forward, his voice adamant and a hand slashing through the air, nearly sloshing the tea from the cup in his other hand. "We _are_ a burden, Lhiannon." Teagan sighed and settled back into the chair, taking another sip of the tea he held. "I can't abide feeling useless."

"I can understand those feelings; I'm sure I would feel the same, in your place."

Teagan finished the tea in his cup in a single gulp, reaching forward to set it on Lhiannon's desk. She offered him a second cup, but he waved her off with a flick of his wrist. "I have been thinking, Lhiannon. I know what I can do to both feel useful and help us with upcoming Landsmeet."

"What would that be, Teagan?"

"I can travel amongst the landholders in the Bannorn to find who our allies are and who is willing to listen to reason."

Lhiannon's brows rose; she leaned forward, propping her chin in her hands and looking at Teagan with questioning and curiosity. "Tell me, Teagan. I'm interested in anything that can help us all at the Landsmeet."

* * *

A light knock on Anders' door drew his attention away from the workbench where he had been crafting more healing poultices. Many of the poultices were put into the stocks of Vigil's Keep, but others were often sold for the extra coin. With the repairs continuing to the city of Amaranthine and the Grey Wardens and soldiers needing armor and supplies, any extra coin was welcome and Anders' skills always brought in a healthy amount. "Hold on! I'm coming!"

Anders went to the door, opening it to see Raelyn on the other side. She looked radiant in a simple robe of deep green, trimmed with golden threads and her hair pulled back into a thick braid. While her clothing and hair looked radiant to Anders, he could see that her face was troubled, circles under her eyes as if she had a restless night with little sleep. He felt his brow wrinkling downward, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Raelyn. With a small, sweeping hand gesture, he ushered her inside, closing the door quietly behind her. "Raelyn, what is it?"

The mage had wandered over to Anders' worktable, her fingers running lightly and absentmindedly over the surface. She picked up one of the finished healing poultices, turning it over in her hand as her eyes skimmed the surface. Anders could see the tension in Raelyn's body, coiled up and ready to snap. He was about to ask his question again when Raelyn turned to him, her eyes locking onto his and a serious expression on her face.

"I want to be a Grey Warden."

A pit began to form in Anders' stomach, gripping him suddenly and by surprise. A feeling of fierce protectiveness overwhelmed him, seemingly coming out of the blue. The pit began to fill with dread; Anders realized in that moment that the last thing he wanted to see was Raelyn attempting the Joining. All he could think of was Mhairi, the Redcliffe soldier who died at his Joining. Mhairi had been a strong woman, could cut down darkspawn with a single swing of her great sword…yet for all her physical strength, she died at her Joining after taking a single drink from the chalice. Anders reached up and absentmindedly clutched at the amulet dangling from the delicate chain around his neck; the amulet that contained a bit of the blood from his Joining as a reminder of those who had not survived. He had had his, Nathaniel's, and Mhairi's names and the date of their Joining engraved on the back as a reminder of that day. The amulet seemed to double, then triple in weight as he held it.

"Why?" he quietly asked, his brow furrowing. He took a step closer to the mage, the feeling of protectiveness growing stronger as the distance between them closed.

Raelyn scoffed, an exasperated sound that was quickly followed by the shaking of her head. "I feel it's something I have to do, Anders. I need to feel useful; right now, I feel like I'm drifting aimlessly on a still ocean, not sure of where the current is taking me. I _need_ a purpose."

"But the Commander is training you in the arcane arts," Anders said, holding his hands out in an urgent plea. "Isn't that a purpose? Why the Joining?"

"Yes, the training is fulfilling a purpose," Raelyn agreed, "but it isn't enough. The Commander and you Grey Wardens have been so generous to us; I thought that joining you would be my way of saying thanks. I _want_ to help the Grey Wardens." She paused a moment, her gaze falling to the top of Anders' workbench where she began to absentmindedly stack the healing poultices in a neat pile. "Besides, I want to be free of the Chantry. If I'm a Grey Warden, I don't need to worry about the Chantry or templars."

"That isn't necessarily true, and you know it." Anders reached forward, grasping Raelyn's shoulders and turning her to face him, his fingers digging into her skin to leave small red marks there later. "If the Chantry wants you, they will try to come after you, Grey Warden or not. You've seen this first hand yourself, right here in this hall. No mage is safe from the Chantry or templars and to think otherwise is folly."

"All the more reason for me to join the Grey Wardens then, Anders, so I can better my chances of slipping through their grasp." She winced at the pressure of Anders' fingers on her shoulders. Seeing her grimace, Anders removed his hands from Raelyn's shoulders, turning away and beginning to pace the room. He ran his hands through his hair, brushing the earring in his ear as his hand passed by.

"Raelyn, please," Anders pleaded, turning back to look her in her dark eyes, "please reconsider. I can't…" He stopped, his words caught, his throat working as if the words had taken physical form and stopped up his throat. _I can't watch her take the Joining. I can't watch her risk herself…what if what happened to Mhairi happens to her…_

The brows on Raelyn's face lowered, a look of confusion crossing her features as she watched Anders seemingly struggle with her wish. His face had paled considerably; Raelyn found herself becoming concerned. "You can't what, Anders? I know of the dangers, but I'm willing to risk it."

Anders sighed, running his hands down the skin of his face, across his cheeks, and down to his neck. He debated telling Raelyn that the Joining could kill her. He debated telling her that he was just now realizing that the feelings of friendship and camaraderie that he held for her were beginning to move beyond those and into something more; that the thought of her risking her life in the Joining made his blood run cold. He opened his mouth to speak, but once again, no words came forth. They caught in his throat like the small bones of a fish, refusing to budge. Anders scoffed quietly to himself; he never had such problems with talking to women before; at least, he never did at Kinloch Hold. Mages told each other all sorts of things while they were hiding out in closets or in dark corners having quick rendezvous' right under the noses of the Chantry and templars. Of course, those were just words spoken in the heat of the moment, or words spoken to quickly get past the robes and down to business. This, Anders suddenly realized, was different.

"I'll go with you," Anders said, his voice low, resigned to the fact that no matter what he said, no matter how he begged or pleaded, Raelyn would not be swayed from her course. The least he could do, then, was support her. He steeled his shoulders, preparing to accompanying Raelyn to Lhiannon's office. He had to believe she would make it; the alternative was too heartbreaking to consider.

A small smile crossed Raelyn's face. "I'd like that, Anders. Very much."

* * *

"You are absolutely certain about this?" Loghain asked, his icy gaze moving between Teagan and Raelyn as they all stood in Lhiannon's office. Anders stood at the door behind Teagan and Raelyn, watching the proceedings with a face set in stone. To anyone not tainted, Anders would have looked seemingly impassive; to those who shared the darkspawn taint, Anders' roiling emotions were plainly evident. He was worried and exceptionally so under the stoic exterior he was working to project. "There will be no turning back from this point forward," Loghain continued.

"I am, Second Loghain," Raelyn stated firmly. "I ask to take the Joining and become a Grey Warden."

"What say you, Teagan?" Loghain asked, continuing the formalities of the ceremony. "As Raelyn is in your employ and the Right of Conscription has not been invoked, do you acquiesce to her wish?"

"I do," Teagan replied, nodding his head once. "Raelyn and I have spoken about her intentions and I have agreed to her request."

"And what say you, Warden Commander?" Loghain asked, turning to where Lhiannon stood next to him. She looked across her office at Teagan and Raelyn, seeing the grim determination on the mage's face and the silent support her lord imparted. After a moment studying her guests, she nodded once, turning to Loghain beside her.

"So be it then. Second Loghain, please ready the ritual," Lhiannon stated formally. "I would welcome Raelyn of Rainesfere into the ranks of the Grey Wardens." Turning back to her guests, she focused her attention on Teagan. "If it is your wish, you may step outside, Teagan. If you choose to remain, you are hereby sworn to silence. You will not speak of what happens within these walls."

"I wish to remain, Warden Commander, to support my friend. You have my vow of silence." Teagan turned to Raelyn, taking her hand and giving it a firm squeeze. "Maker watch over you."

Raelyn nodded her thanks, her attention focusing on Lhiannon as Teagan stepped back to stand next to Anders at the door. Once Teagan was in his place, Loghain turned and began to prepare the chalice for the Joining.

As Loghain prepared the chalice with the darkspawn blood, Lhiannon recited the words of the Joining ritual, watching as Raelyn nodded solemnly. After a moment, Loghain handed Lhiannon the chalice, the odor of corruption assailing her nose once more. Lhiannon exhaled through her nose, seeking to drive the odor out; no matter how many times she performed the Joining, the smell of the corruption was something she would never adapt to. She motioned for Raelyn to step forward and watched as Anders also moved up to stand behind Raelyn, most likely to catch her when she fell. And she would fall; everyone fell during the Joining. The question was: would she get up again?

Lhiannon handed the chalice to Raelyn, who grimaced at the smell of the corruption within the vessel. "Raelyn of Rainesfere, from this moment on, you are a Grey Warden."

Raelyn took a deep breath and raised the chalice to her lips, pausing for a moment before closing her eyes and drinking the corrupted liquid. The vessel began to tilt precariously; Lhiannon quickly reached forward and snatched the chalice as it fell from Raelyn's hand. Raelyn's eyes suddenly went wide and she took a deep breath, her mouth opening wide as if screaming a silent scream an instant before her body began to violently convulse. Her eyes rolled back into her head and a choked gurgle escaped her lips. As she began to falter, Anders rushed forward and eased her jerking body to the ground, his eyes wide with fear as a trickle of blood ran out of Raelyn's mouth.

* * *

_A bit of filler in this chapter; I need to set the stage to close one story arc and set up the next one. Please bear with me; as always, I appreciate all your support!_

_Since Teagan was present at the Landsmeet, he would have witnessed the conversation between Riordan, Lhiannon, and Alistair regarding Loghain's conscription and Anora's question about the lethality of the ritual. That would be how he knows the ritual is potentially fatal, but not necessarily why.  
_

_Special thanks and appreciation go out to reviewers Tyanilth, Shakespira (hugs to you both!), Aura of Darkness Night, Wehaswallhacks, JackOfBladesX, sleepyowlet, Arsinoe, Dark Chubb, icey (hugs to you, me lovely), and Mystricka. I'm grateful to you all for your continued feedback and support._

_Thanks as well to those of you who have reviewed or set as a favorite my other stories...it means a lot! And as always, thanks to all of you quiet readers! I'm thankful that you take a few minutes out of your day to follow the story.  
_


	22. Til We Meet Again

The heavy curtains were drawn across the window, shutting out the daylight and plunging the room into darkness. A single candle was lit, the dim light only marginally chasing the shadows back from the weak flame. Anders sat slumped in a chair, a book on his lap that did little more than take up space. Along with the candle on the table next to him sat a small vial containing a healing and revitalization compound. He had made it the day before—before the Joining—hoping against hope that it would be needed and that he had not made it in vain. He reached out, picking up the small vial for what seemed like the hundredth time, running his fingers over the cool glass, over the small bit of cork that sealed the vessel closed. Just beyond the smoky glass lay the mixture, the level of the liquid in the flask barely distinguishable unless he rolled the vial in his hands. He gazed again at the liquid inside, watching as it coated the glass for a moment before running back down to join with the rest of the mixture.

Setting the vial and book back on the table, Anders sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He had not shaved since the day before and the stubble growing on his face was beginning to itch. He stood, taking the candle from the table and walking to the mirror mounted on a nearby wall. He looked at his face, seeing the lines emphasized by the shadows the wan candlelight cast and seeing the small flecks of red in the stubble of his beard. He ran his hands down the skin of his face, listening to the rasp the skin of his palms caused against the hairs of his face. As his hands ran down his face, he thought he heard a small sound from across the room, nearly drowned out by the subtle rasp of skin on stubble. Anders turned and looked across the room to his bed, where the prone form of Raelyn lay since the Joining ceremony the day before. He had been relieved beyond measure when he put his fingers to her neck at the Joining and felt her pulse. It was slow, but strong. The bleeding from her mouth had been a combination of darkspawn blood and blood from when she had bitten the inside of her cheek in her convulsions. If that was the worst injury to come from her Joining, then she was fortunate indeed. Anders released the breath he did not realize he was holding as he saw Raelyn's pale hand rubbing gingerly at her eyes.

Returning the candle to the table near the bed, Anders plucked the vial of healing compound up from the table and knelt beside the bed, gently pulling Raelyn's hand away from her face. Even in the dim candlelight, he could see that her skin was still pale from the Joining, save for the dark circles under her eyes. She turned her half opened eyes to Anders, a grimace crossing her features.

"You didn't tell me I'd feel like shit when this was over. Or that I'd have nightmares."

Anders scoffed lightly, running his arm beneath Raelyn's shoulders to help prop her up. He showed her the vial, tilting his head toward the vessel. "This is a healing and rejuvenation tincture; it will help revitalize you," he explained, lifting Raelyn with one arm while using the other to bring the vial to her lips. He tilted it gently, the liquid flowing slowly past Raelyn's chapped lips. He watched the flesh of her throat move as she swallowed the liquid, enraptured by the smoothness of her skin, longing to reach out and run his fingers along the graceful curve of her neck. After a couple of small swallows, Anders could see a healthier color returning to her skin. She nodded, indicating that she was finished for the moment. Anders replaced the cork, turning to replace the vial on the nearby table.

"Well, there are just some things we can't put into the recruitment drive," Anders grinned, propping his elbows on the mattress and placing his chin in his hands once Raelyn was settled again. "It's amazing how many recruits you lose if you mention pain or death."

Raelyn chuckled lightly for a moment, suddenly stopping and looking at Anders in wonder. Anders watched her brow furrow, as if she were puzzling something out. Her mouth opened slightly as she took a sudden breath. "I can _feel_ you…" she whispered, disbelief coloring her voice. "In my blood; my mind... How…how is that possible…?"

"It's the taint," Anders explained, shrugging slightly. "Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn through it and since we also have their taint within us, we can also sense each other. In time, you'll likely be able to tell _who_ you're sensing. Maybe even how many darkspawn you're sensing."

"Or what I'm sensing?"

A slow grin crossed Anders' face. "And just what are you sensing, my dear?"

"Something not entirely unpleasant,"

"Is that so?" Anders asked, reaching out to place his hand on Raelyn's, his mouth turning up into a cheeky grin as her hand closed around his. His head moved closer to hers and he watched as her tongue lightly brushed her lower lip in anticipation. Anders took it as a positive sign, leaning forward and closing the distance between them. "Then I'm hoping that this will also be not entirely unpleasant." His lips softly brushed up against hers, a gentle pressure that she returned as eagerly as she could. She broke the kiss a moment later, slowly sliding over and urging Anders onto the bed next to her. He lay on his side, wrapping his arms gingerly around her and pressing his lips to hers once more.

* * *

"I think it would be best if we left for the Bannorn as soon as Raelyn is on her feet again."

Teagan sat in one of the hard, uncompromising chairs in Loghain's office across the desk from the Second Warden, Lhiannon leaning up against a nearby wall as Loghain sat in his chair behind the desk. Now that he had determined his purpose and set an objective, Teagan was anxious to get underway. Time was quickly becoming a luxury they could not afford to waste.

Lhiannon nodded from where she stood against the wall. "I understand and agree, Teagan. I have no doubt that Raelyn will be ready to travel with you very soon; Anders will see to it."

"And where is it you will begin?" Loghain asked, his eyes turning to the map of Ferelden mounted painstakingly and carefully to the wall next to his desk. "The Landsmeet is not far off; you cannot waste time meandering blindly through the Bannorn."

"I thought about going to South Reach to see Arl Bryland first," Teagan said, his eyes flicking over to the map and to the icon that represented South Reach. "Bryland is well regarded in the Bannorn amongst the lords and freemen; if anyone has heard rumblings regarding Eamon, the Crown, or the Grey Wardens, it will be him."

Loghain nodded his approval. "Leonas fought alongside Maric and me during the rebellion on several occasions. He's a good man who commands a great deal of respect among his vassals and peers. I agree; if anyone has heard any rumblings amongst the residents of the Bannorn, it will be him."

Teagan moved to the map on the wall, indicating various locations with his hand. "I would like to visit some of the landholders along the Ruswold Valley and perhaps move as far west as the Hinterlands if time permits," Teagan continued, his hand moving along the map as he spoke. "Though there are many in the Hinterlands who owe their good fortunes to Eamon. Hopefully, Arl Bryland will have other leads to be followed. The Bannorn is a large place and I know I cannot traverse all of it in time." Teagan then moved his hand to where Dragon's Peak was located. "I'd like to visit Bann Sighard on the way to Denerim as well."

"From what I understand," Loghain began, "Sighard may still owe the Commander a favor and loyalty for rescuing his son from that fool Howe."

"Oh no, Loghain," Lhiannon protested, holding her hands up in the air before her, "I don't want to get overly involved in the political machinations of court and who owes who favors." Lhiannon watched as Loghain and Teagan both scoffed, humor and sarcasm in their voices. She tried to fight the grin that threatened to spread across her face, but it was a futile effort.

"It is far too late for that," Loghain snorted, "you were 'overly involved' in politics even before you became Arlessa. I dare say you have been 'overly involved' in politics since you took your Joining."

A cheeky grin crossed Lhiannon's face. "Sighard paid back his favor, you know."

Teagan's gaze flitted between Lhiannon and Loghain, watching as they both gave each other cheeky grins. "The Commander has a point there," Teagan conceded.

"Ah yes," Loghain grinned, scoffing once more, "I seem to recall that Sighard did indeed throw in his lot with the Grey Wardens at the last Landsmeet. In any case, you are correct, Teagan. Bryland is likely a good place to start, with Sighard to follow."

"I would also like another Grey Warden to accompany you," Lhiannon continued, drumming her finders on her arm as she spoke. "I'd like Raelyn to have guidance from another Warden in her first weeks after the Joining; she will need help to her interpret her new senses and this journey will be a tremendous learning experience for her. Moreover, there are still wandering bands of darkspawn around the Brecilian Forest and I'd rather send a seasoned Warden with you in an abundance of caution rather than take any chances."

"And do you have a Warden in mind?"

"I do," Lhiannon nodded. "I'd like Sigrun to accompany Raelyn. In reality, Teagan, she is my only choice. She has a level head and won't make waves with your people or those you visit. She will also be able to give Raelyn field training as a Grey Warden and help with her arcane swordsmanship."

"Done," Teagan agreed, nodding his head once. "I appreciate your generous offer."

"I do not think you need to be reminded about discretion, Teagan," Loghain stated, leaning forward and propping his forearms on the top of his desk. "Ferelden is still in a fragile state after the Blight. Alliances have a way of being quickly forgotten once the threat of immediate danger has passed."

"You are indeed right, and sadly so," Teagan agreed. "I will not presume to speak for the Grey Wardens while I am traveling."

"Indeed not," Lhiannon said, her voice firm. "The Grey Wardens are mired in politics enough, both with the nobility and myself with the Chantry; those flames need not be fanned. Sigrun and Raelyn need not be identified as Grey Wardens if it is not absolutely necessary. Any issues the nobles have with the Grey Wardens can be brought to my attention at the Landsmeet."

"The Chantry will also be at the Landsmeet, likely looking for reason to see you 'put in your place'," Loghain added, his gaze moving from Teagan to Lhiannon. "Our union will hopefully dissuade some of the more moderate adherents from their path of zealotry, thinking that as Arl I will be the lord of Amaranthine. We should not openly discourage that mindset either."

Loghain watched as a dark look crossed Lhiannon's face, knowing that playing such a role to appease fickle nobles and Chantry adherents was like tasting ash in her mouth. She had, in time, learned to love her role as Warden Commander and Arlessa, to take pride in the honor bestowed upon her by the Queen, and later the King, after the fall of the archdemon. The Chantry and their allies still made Lhiannon angry beyond words, but she understood the implications of playing such a role, even if in reality their administration of the arling would be as partners and equals. In Grey Warden matters, it was she who would have the last word as Warden Commander; let the Chantry choke on that. Loghain grinned to himself; for not having lived beyond Kinloch Hold for most of her adult life, Lhiannon had quickly picked up on the machinations of nobility and the tactical advantages of playing certain roles. Her title of Hero of Ferelden could only take her so far; her wits would have to do the rest.

"A wise precaution, though I do not expect the Grand Cleric to have a warm welcome for you," Teagan replied, turning his attention to Lhiannon, who was silently fuming as she stood against the wall. After a moment she scoffed derisively, shifting on her feet slightly.

"Well, I won't be going out of my way to have tea and cookies with her either," Lhiannon snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can imagine that the only words she'll have for me revolve around renouncing my titles and slinking back to Kinloch Hold. In chains, preferably, like a qunari saarebas."

Lhiannon caught a flicker in the taint and looked toward Loghain. His gaze quickly fell to her, an eyebrow slightly raised in wry amusement. _Oh boy, maybe that wasn't the best idea to put in his head._ She turned her attention back to Teagan, fighting the blush that threatened to stain her cheeks a flaming red. She felt a smug satisfaction through the taint from Loghain at his unspoken innuendo; it seemed he was endlessly amused by such antics, watching as she fought the rising tide of awkwardness in front of guests. "Let me know what supplies you and your people need," Lhiannon said, hoping a change of subject would keep her cheeks unstained. "I'll do my best to provide them before you leave."

"Trent is currently taking stock of what supplies my men have and those that they will need. He is to have an inventory for me at midday."

A knock on the door drew their attention. "What is it?" Loghain called out tersely, clearly not expecting any visitors to his office just yet. When the door opened, they saw Raelyn and Anders on the other side.

Lhiannon was pleased to see Raelyn back on her feet, no doubt aided by Anders' exceptional healing skills. Her cheeks were rosy and though she moved a little slower than usual, she looked no worse for wear. Anders was following closely behind the mage, looking cheerful and satisfied, a grin on his face as if his hand had been caught in the proverbial cookie jar. His gaze met Lhiannon's and he gave her a swarthy wink and a grin. _I definitely need to find out what _that _is all about_, she thought to herself.

Quickly rising from his chair, Teagan took two long steps and arrived before Raelyn, gathering her into a gentle hug as he chuckled softly. "I'm so glad to see you on your feet, Raelyn."

Lhiannon watched as Raelyn returned Teagan's embrace with a laugh, a laugh that filled the office with joy and life despite the taint raging within her. Teagan's laugh quickly joined hers, a rumble that complimented Raelyn's voice. Lhiannon imagined that the two friends had shared many laughs over the years of their friendship and sincerely wished that the Maker defied the new taint within Raelyn and granted them many more.

"No one is happier to be on their feet again than me," Raelyn said as their embrace broke. She stepped backward, coming to Anders' side and giving him a sideways glance and a small smile. Anders returned it, the corners of his mouth ticking upward as his eyes met hers, a warm look crossing his features. Lhiannon grinned to herself. _Now I definitely need to find out what's going on in that head of his. _

"Anders, could you please fetch Sigrun?" Lhiannon asked, wanting to finalize details of Teagan's trip with all the parties involved now that Raelyn was on her feet. She watched as Anders gave Raelyn a sidelong glance before hurrying off to find Sigrun.

"How are you feeling, Raelyn?" Lhiannon asked, the relief at seeing her fellow mage no worse for wear evident in her voice and on her face.

The mage scoffed, a small laugh escaping her lips. "Other than swallowing a poison and having nightmares of darkspawn pursuing me, never better." A loud rumble was then heard and she sheepishly covered her stomach, her cheeks flushing red. "Did I mention ravenously hungry?"

"Get used to it," Lhiannon grinned. "I think we may need to start raising livestock and turning all available space into farmland pretty soon to keep us all fed."

Footsteps could be heard approaching, a set of heavier, long strides accompanied by lighter, quicker strides. Anders and Sigrun appeared in the doorway, the dwarf's face lighting up as she saw Raelyn in the room. "Oh, hey Raelyn. Good to see ya up and at 'em again." She turned her attention to Lhiannon, watching as a grin crossed her Commander's face. "Hey, Commander; what's up?"

"Sigrun, Teagan and his people will be leaving soon for the Bannorn before attending the Landsmeet in Denerim; Raelyn included," Lhiannon began, walking over to stand before the dwarf. "I'd like you to go with them, not only to help warn them of approaching darkspawn, but to mentor Raelyn in her first weeks as a Warden."

"Sure," Sigrun chirped with a grin on her tattooed face, "not a problem. Always happy to help." Lhiannon watched as her grin faltered somewhat. "I'll miss your wedding, won't I?"

With a small sigh, Lhiannon nodded, "I'm afraid so, Sigrun. But we'll see you in Denerim before the Landsmeet; we'll be going there to await the birth of the King and Queen's baby as well as attend the Landsmeet. Don't worry; I'll have a portrait commissioned so you can see us in our wedding day finery."

Sigrun snickered as Loghain rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Is there no way to talk you out of that damned commission?"

"Not a chance." Lhiannon grinned once more at Sigrun. "We will travel to the Brecilian Forest from Denerim to seal the breach. The darkspawn attacks are lessening as the creatures are drawn to the breach and flee underground, but it is still necessary to seal it for good. Thankfully, it is in a sparsely populated area. The Dalish also know well enough to give it a wide berth until we return."

"I'm not going to miss _that, _am I?"

"Certainly not," Lhiannon agreed.

"Good, because as awful as the breach sounds, there's no way you can keep me away from that. Besides, you'll need a dwarf to interpret any runes or symbols if we actually end up in the Deep Roads."

"Ugh, I hate the Deep Roads," Anders groused to Sigrun, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "Better you than me."

"You had best attend to reality, Warden," Loghain growled, pointing a finger at Anders, "for you will be accompanying the Commander and me to the Brecilian Forest to close the breach."

"Did I say I hated the Deep Roads? What I meant to say was that I love going into the dark, oppressive, darkspawn and taint infested Deep Roads. Ooh, and spiders; I just love fighting giant, bloated, corrupted spiders. I can't wait to go."

Loghain narrowed his eyes at the mage, favoring him with an icy stare that caused Anders to fidget on his feet. After a few more moments glaring at the mage, Loghain spoke again. "Anders, in your opinion, is Raelyn fit to travel?"

"Ideally, it's always best for the body to heal on its own, at its own time and pace," Anders explained, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "But the tinctures I'll give her will help speed up her body's healing process without too much in the way of side effects. She won't have to consume mana for healing spells either."

"Make it so," Lhiannon said, nodding once to Anders. "Prepare however many flasks you think she will need. Teagan wishes to leave as soon as possible."

* * *

The sun was just barely above the horizon, the wispy clouds in the sky reflecting the early morning light in a litany of pinks and oranges. The supply wagons lined up before the main doors of Vigil's Keep cast long shadows toward the entrance of the fortress. Men bustled about, hitching horses to the carts and loading supplies, handing bags of foodstuffs, camping supplies, weapons, and armor hand over hand to be neatly stacked and secured inside each cart. Though it was mid spring, a chill was in the air that served to remind those outside that winter was never long forgotten in Ferelden.

Anders stood at the window in his chambers, peering through the curtains and watching the activity outside with a sense of melancholy. He was clad in only a towel, his long blonde hair damp and unbound, flowing down past the tops of his shoulders. A fire was lit in the small hearth in his room, the flames inside chasing some of the overnight chill away.

He watched as Lhiannon and Teagan stood near the carts, no doubt observing as Trent supervised the loading of supplies into each one. Anders watched them speaking among themselves, Lhiannon drawing her cloak a little tighter around her body as Teagan motioned toward the carts. The main doors of the Vigil opened, allowing Loghain and Sigrun to exit the hall, she in her Legion of the Dead armor and Loghain carrying a leather cylinder. Sigrun's Grey Warden armor would be taken to Denerim by Lhiannon and Loghain; they thought it best that the Grey Wardens keep a low profile as they traveled the Bannorn.

As he watched, Loghain opened the cylinder and removed a rolled up parchment; a map, most likely. After showing it to Teagan and his man Trent for a moment, Loghain gently rolled the parchment up, easing it into the leather cylinder once again before handing the parcel over to Teagan.

A pair of warm arms encircled Anders' chest as an equally warm pair of breasts pressed into the skin of his back and a cheek laid against the curve of his shoulder. Anders smiled, his hands gently grasping the arms that encircled him.

"Do you think they'll postpone their trip for a few hours?" Raelyn's voice whispered into his ear, her teeth gently nibbling the lobe of Anders' ear. "Or maybe a few days?"

"Don't I wish," Anders sighed, turning to face Raelyn and pulling her close. He lowered his face to hers, his lips playing softly along her mouth. The tip of her tongue brushed along his bottom lip, slowly moving back and forth, begging for the kiss to deepen. He acquiesced with a slight moan, opening his mouth to hers and meeting her tongue halfway, pulling her even closer to him as their tongues danced together. His hands found Raelyn's long damp hair, running through the locks as he held her face to his.

Reluctantly, Raelyn broke the kiss a moment later, her lips reddened and slightly swollen from all the kissing the previous evening and this morning. She and Anders had found little sleep the night before and though she did not regret it a single bit, she hoped she could take a quick nap during their midday meal on the road. If not, she would surely be turning in as soon as they made camp that night. The thought of casting a sleeping spell on herself later on was looking more and more like a good idea.

"I need to get ready," Raelyn sighed. "They'll be looking for me soon enough. It wouldn't be a good start in the Grey Wardens if the Commander or Loghain had to come banging on doors to find me for my first assignment."

Anders reluctantly stepped back, his hands running down her arms to gently grasp her hands. He squeezed them gently, a look of deep concern on his face. "Raelyn, be safe. Listen to Sigrun; she knows a great deal about the darkspawn."

Squeezing his hands in return, Raelyn looked into Anders' eyes, nodding solemnly. "I know she does, Anders." She stood on her toes, her lips brushing the skin where his ear and jaw met, earning a husky sigh from Anders. She smiled, her lips moving against the skin of his jaw, pulling away once she reached his chin. She stepped up on her toes once again, kissing the tip of Anders' nose. "And I will be careful."

"Then that is all I can ask."

* * *

Lhiannon was just about to march into the Vigil to find the wayward mages when Anders and Raelyn finally emerged from the front doors of Vigil's Keep, he in mage robes and she in Lhiannon's borrowed ancient elven armor, altered staff secured to her back. Anders carried a small pouch slung over his shoulder. She noticed that not only had the mages walked down the steps of the Vigil side by side, but also hand in hand. Lhiannon grinned to herself; Anders, it seemed, was in love. It was a sight Lhiannon rarely saw in her friend.

They approached the spot where the others stood, preparing to say their farewells and receive any last minute instructions. Sigrun had climbed up on one of the supply carts; Raelyn would take a spot next to her for the time being. Teagan stood next to his horse, dressed in the armor he had arrived at Vigil's Keep in. He turned to address Lhiannon and Loghain, giving them a small bow.

"Warden Commander. Warden Loghain. I and my people cannot thank you enough for your generosity and hospitality in the weeks we have been with you. If there is any way I can repay this debt to you, you need only ask."

Lhiannon nodded, extending her hand to Teagan, who took it and shook it firmly. "I, the Grey Wardens, and the Arling of Amaranthine are always ready to help friends in need. I hope that when next we meet, the circumstances will be not as grim."

Taking his hand from Lhiannon's, Teagan next turned to Loghain, extending his hand. Loghain shook it firmly, nodding once to Teagan. "Safe travels, Teagan."

"And you, Your Grace, on your journey to Denerim." Teagan then grinned widely, his pleasant face bright with good humor. "Congratulations to both of you on your upcoming wedding and the birth of your grandchild."

Lhiannon heard snorts and snickers from around her; Anders and Sigrun found it endlessly amusing that Lhiannon would be a step grandmother to Calenhad's heir, especially since she was nearly the same age as the Queen herself. It did not help that she also heard a snort of amusement from Loghain beside her, quickly followed up by Teagan. "That's right," she groused, pointing her fingers at each guilty party in turn, "laugh it up now. But each of you can be given extra duties for such impertinence toward your commander."

"Fortunately, I am neither a Grey Warden nor your vassal," Teagan grinned.

"I'll find a way, Teagan."

Teagan laughed, the sound joyous and full of life, carrying through the courtyard and reflecting off the nearby walls of the Vigil. Lhiannon found his laughter infectious and she found herself joining him. Turning her head as she laughed, she saw Anders and Raelyn standing next to the cart she would be riding in. He pulled the small pouch off his shoulder and transferred it to Raelyn. As he finished settling the pouch on her shoulder, Anders took her hands in his, bringing both up to his face where he gently kissed the fingers of each of her hands.

"There are enough tinctures in here to last you a week, one each day. Even though you'll be feeling normal in a couple of days, take them all." She nodded her understanding and as she finished, Anders lowered his forehead to hers, gently touching it, his eyes closed. He stayed there for a long moment before he spoke. "Stay safe, Raelyn. Hurry back to me soon."

I'll see you in Denerim," she replied, tilting her head up and pressing her lips to his, unmindful of the curious looks and catcalls of the others.

* * *

_My goodness, did I ever cause a__n uproar for the way the last chapter ended. As I told JackOfBladesX, many of you have followed my stories long enough to know that I'm going to throw an evil cliffhanger out there every now and then. My bad. ;)_

_After a 20 year hiatus, I __picked up my drawing pencils again and illustrated a scene from chapter two of Tyanilth's "The Hourglass". If you'd like to check the picture out, you can do so at this link (without the spaces, of course): http :/ josielange. deviantart. com/_. _If for some reason this link doesn't work, head on over to my profile page and take the link there. I have to thank both Tyanilth and Shakespira from the bottom of my heart for holding my hands and offering their advice, guidance, and support as the picture came to life (as well as idea bouncing for a future chapter). Your support has meant the world to me. Thank you, my Evil Triplets. ;)_

_To icey, Gene, and Eva Galana: thank you all for the kind words on the picture over at deviantART and Cheeky Monkeys.  
_

_ I know what you're thinking...what's the deal with that scene? Where are Loghain's windbraids? Well, you'll just have to read "The Hourglass" to find out. It's a great story, so head on over there and check it out.  
_

_I also have a scene in mind to illustrate for this story, so watch for that soon.  
_

_Much in the way of thanks and appreciation go out to reviewers Tyanilth, icey, Shakespira, Aura of Darkness Night, Arsinoe, JackOfBladesX, and Enaid Aderyn. Also thanks to Lady Cailan for reading and reviewing RA. I do my happy dance whenever I see your names in my inbox._

_Thanks to all the readers; you help keep me going.  
_


	23. Honeyed Words

Lhiannon sighed, her elbow resting on the top of her desk and head resting in her hand as not one, but two couriers entered her office bearing sealed missives and a package, all addressed to her.

"Maker's breath," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as the couriers looked at her with curiosity. With less than two weeks left before the wedding and the trip to Denerim, she felt as if she were being pulled into a thousand different directions and had a thousand things to do, every one competing for top priority on her ever growing list. _How long can I function with no sleep?_

She had scrawled a list of things to remember on her desk and her eyes flicked over it as she rubbed her temples. _Talk to Nate again about the breach… have to finish planning the expedition to seal that son of a bitch. Gwaren: Maker, we'll have to go there at some point after the wedding and Landsmeet just to make sure any loose ends are tied up. The Landsmeet: oh boy, I don't even want to think about that right now. I hope Teagan is having luck out in the Bannorn. The Denerim Alienage: have to go there for recruiting. Kinloch Hold: ditto. Is there any end to the work? What else can come along?_

"Beggin' yer pardon, Warden Commander, but we need to be leavin' for other deliveries soon. If we're late with 'em, we don't get paid."

Lhiannon looked up to see the courier with the bulky package looking at her questioningly, no doubt wondering if he and his colleague could give her their packages and missives and be on their way. Beckoning them forward, Lhiannon cleared a small corner of her desk so that the couriers could set their packages down. "Just put those things here, if you please."

The courier with the package set his charge on the corner of her desk. Lhiannon could see that it was a heavy cloth and string that bound the package, its shape slightly irregular. Her brows furrowed as she wondered what it could be. There was a parchment secured to the package; she pulled it off, holding it in one hand as she reached out for the missives the other courier was holding out to her. With a nod of thanks, she dismissed the men, who appeared to be happy to be on their way to other deliveries.

Lhiannon placed the missives on the desk in front of her, curious as to what the larger package could be. She turned the parchment from the package over in her hand to view the wax seal she could feel resting in the palm of her hand. It only took a split second to recognize the seal.

It was Anora's. _Then this must be…_

Breaking the seal with her fingers, Lhiannon opened the parchment and saw the Queen's writing inside. The letter was written in an informal style, which brought a grin to her face and excitement to her heart.

_Lhiannon,_

_My father entrusted me with a most important task while you were recovering. I hope you find this to your liking and I am most excited to see it in person._

_A_

Under Anora's initial was a second short note; Lhiannon grinned when she saw the boyish scrawl that could only be Alistair's at the bottom of the page.

_See you soon, Mother. AT_

"Mother," Lhiannon scoffed, shaking her head as she put the note aside. "Keep it up, Theirin." She could just imagine him pleading with Anora, using that boyish charm of his to let him pen a small note on the letter. It seemed that the aloof queen had fallen completely for Alistair's charm at last, to indulge him this note.

Pulling a small dagger from her desk, Lhiannon sliced apart the strings holding the package closed. She carefully unwrapped the package, seeing a glimpse of sparkle hidden amongst fabric that lay beneath, a rich, vibrant blue. She pulled the fabric from the packaging and saw that it was not just a bolt of fabric or a dress, but _the _dress, the fabric rich in feel but light in weight. She held up the dress and smiled at the choice the Queen of Ferelden had made; as a mage who had always been told marriage was beyond her grasp, she was grateful to have Anora's help; Lhiannon had to admit, she was clueless about such things.

The gown was made of Ferelden silk, a deep blue with a simple scoop neck that promised not to show too much skin—for which Lhiannon was grateful. She had seen some of Leliana's Orlesian gowns before and shuddered to think of just how much skin would show, but the Queen knew that Lhiannon would not want something frilly and Orlesian; simple and traditional would be best, both for Lhiannon and Loghain. The gown felt luxurious, even decadent, in her hands and had long, fitted sleeves with a loose oversleeve that fell nearly to the floor. The dress laced up the back, the laces the same color as the dress itself. A long, thin belt accompanied the dress, a number of gemstones placed within its length and the buckles and ends made of what appeared to be blue sliverite. Holding the dress up against her, Lhiannon saw that a small amount of length would need to be taken up, but between Leliana, Lillian, and Katarina, that task would be completed in little time. Carefully folding the dress and rewrapping it in the packaging material, she decided that her next stop after reading the rest of the missives would be Lillian's store; she would also be able to check on the task she had set Wade to a couple of weeks ago with the blue silverite that Katarina had procured for her. Since the wedding was now less than two weeks away, she had best get these affairs in order.

Reluctantly setting the dress aside, Lhiannon turned to the missives that lay on her desk. Picking up the first one, she saw the seal of Highever pressed into the hard wax. "Fergus finally writes, eh?" She softlly commented, breaking the seal and opening the letter.

It was a short note, written in a matter slightly less than formal. Lhiannon had no issues with the young teyrn, but he tended to keep Lhiannon a bit at arm's length due to her association with Loghain. She could hardly blame him; though Loghain had not ordered the slaughter of the Couslands during the civil war, Fergus was understandably wary of Loghain due to his association with Rendon Howe, the man who _did_ slaughter them and usurped their lands for his own. Then to add another layer to the relationship between Lhiannon and Fergus, she had conscripted Nathaniel; Fergus had been wary of Nathaniel, seeking to discover his involvement in the slaughter at Highever. Nathaniel had still been in the Free Marches during that atrocity, not knowing of his father's depravity until after he was dead. The fact that Lhiannon killed the slayer of Highever brought Fergus around somewhat.

Fergus had accepted the invitation, though he indicated may be delayed slightly as there were matters that would be keeping him close to Highever for the next few days. Lhiannon knew that a nasty spring storm had recently lashed the coast near Highever, damaging a number of homes and other buildings around the settlement. She had sent a missive offering assistance, but Fergus had replied that matters were well in hand and thanked her for the offer. His letter also mentioned that while he was visiting Vigil's Keep, he would take the opportunity to tour the rebuilding efforts in Amaranthine. As it was second only to Highever within the teyrnir, he wanted to see the progress of the repairs himself.

She put the letter from Highever aside, turning to the second letter addressed to her. The parchment of the letter was of very high quality, the feel almost silken soft in her hand. It also appeared to have been perfumed; a subtle scent of what she thought may be cloves lingered on the paper. Turning it over, she studied the wax seal. The seal showed a fanciful rearing griffon on a fanciful background.

It was the grand seal of the Grey Wardens of Orlais.

"Oh, Andraste's tits," Lhiannon sighed, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand as she slumped back into her chair. She knew this day would come and was actually surprised that it took the Orlesian Grey Wardens, or any Grey Wardens for that matter, this long to actually reach out to her. Her stomach seemed to drop closer to her feet by several inches and a cold sweat threatened to break out over her body. They, and probably Weisshaupt, were likely looking for answers to some rather significant questions; answers Lhiannon was not sure she wanted to give to them, now or ever. With slightly shaky fingers, Lhiannon broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

_To the victorious Warden Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, greetings and salutations._

_Word of your victory against the archdemon and the Blight has reached the ears of your Warden brothers and sisters. We offer our most sincere congratulations for your victory and your efforts to rebuild the Grey Warden order in Ferelden._

_As is vital with such matters, a debriefing of you and your subordinate Wardens is necessary. We are most anxious to hear of your battle against the archdemon and the circumstances surrounding it. The outcome of that battle was extraordinary and we are most curious to hear about it._

_I extend an invitation to you and your Wardens to join your brothers and sisters in Val Royeaux so that we may share in the victory against the archdemon and Blight. You and your Wardens will meet the Warden Commander of Orlais and his honor guard at Val Firmin and from there be given an escort to Val Royeaux as befitting the vanquishers of the Blight._

_We, your brothers and sisters, anxiously await your arrival._

_Rolande Grosvenor_

_Second Warden of Weisshaupt_

"Oh, shit, fuck, dammit," Lhiannon sat back in her chair, the letter dangling from her hand as she rubbed her forehead and sighed wearily. That dull ache was settling in again after reading the letter from the Orlesian Grey Wardens. _Of _course_ they have questions, not only for me but surely for Loghain as well. They'll probably want to know about Alistair's role in all of this, now that he's King. Will Weisshaupt seek to influence Ferelden through Alistair? Or Amaranthine through me? Like bloody hell on both fronts. I may be a Grey Warden, but I'm also a Ferelden, and if they think some figurehead whose probably never stepped foot in this country can bend Ferelden to their will from hundreds of miles away, they can think again. _We_ are the ones who just vanquished a Blight; I think we, the King and the Wardens, know what's in Ferelden's best interests post Blight. If Amaranthine prospers under the banner of the Grey Wardens, will they want to see our books? Take a stipend from us? Andraste's flaming tits…_

Lhiannon rose from her chair, quickly stashing the package from Anora into a deep drawer at the bottom of her desk; she did not want Loghain seeing it before the wedding and ruining the surprise; it would be safe there for the moment. She moved to the door and closed it behind her, locking it to keep prying eyes away from the missives before she was ready to share them. Moving swiftly through the halls of the Vigil, she sought both Varel and Loghain so that they could discuss the missives.

When she reached the door to Varel's office, she saw that the door was only open a crack, unusual for her seneschal. The only time Varel's door was closed was when he was not in his office; other than that, he kept it wide open, an invitation for the residents and servants of the Vigil to enter and discuss whatever was on their minds. Curious, Lhiannon pressed her ear to the door, listening to see if Varel was inside and just had the door mostly closed for privacy or if the door just did not latch properly. She heard a small noise from inside and peeked her head around the corner of the door to investigate.

Varel and Aura were engaged in what could only be described as a _very_ passionate kiss.

Lhiannon quickly covered her mouth before a gasp could escape. She quickly ducked her head back out, still holding her hand over her mouth, but now to hold back the girlish giggles that threatened to erupt. Interrupting her seneschal and his assistant while they were engaged in such an activity was certainly not in her plans. She took a step backwards, seeking to quietly leave; she could fetch Loghain first before coming back to gather Varel so that they could discuss the letter from the Orlesian Grey Wardens. And make a great deal of noise as they approached Varel's office to give him plenty of notice that guests were arriving so that he could conclude his business.

As she stepped backwards, a floorboard squeaked under her weight. Loudly. _Oh, shit!_

Lhiannon heard a gasp from beyond the door and then footsteps quickly approaching. Quickly turning her head from side to side, Lhiannon tried to find the best route of escape; she had not intended to interrupt Varel and Aura, but saw now that her attempt at escape would be futile. Whoever was coming to the door would undoubtedly discover her before she could round one of the nearby corners; how dignified would she look if caught running down the hall as if her hair was on fire and her ass catching? Not even a haste spell could help her now; spells took time to cast and time was one thing this situation did not allow. She felt the red blush erupt on her cheeks, the heat from her flushing threatening to spread throughout her body. Best to just get the embarrassment out of the way now. She stood outside the door, waiting for the inevitable while trying to hold her embarrassed, nervous snickering in check.

The door flew open and Varel entered the doorway, his eyes going wide as he met Lhiannon's gaze. Aura quickly appeared at Varel's side, her own eyes wide and a prominent blush staining the fair skin of her cheeks when she saw the Warden Commander before them.

"Commander!" Varel gasped, hastily straightening his slightly rumpled tunic. Lhiannon saw that Aura was likewise brushing her hands down the front of her dress in order to smooth away the wrinkles. Lhiannon sighed inwardly and with no small degree of relief; she was lucky they still had their clothes on when she saw them, but from the disheveled and shocked looks she was receiving from her seneschal and his assistant, it would have been only moments before their clothing was in a discarded heap on the floor. Aura brushed by Varel with a hastily mumbled "excuse me", fleeing down the hall with her eyes averted and head down, likely heading for her own rooms to try and center herself.

"Commander, I…"

Lhiannon held up a hand, gently brushing past Varel and into his office. Varel closed the door—completely this time—and turned to face his Commander. Lhiannon could see from the look on his face that he was expecting a thorough scolding from her. He held himself stiffly, tense almost to the point of snapping. Lhiannon let the breath she was holding go, willing herself to relax.

"Varel, I'm sorry," Lhiannon said, holding her hands up in supplication. "I was coming to gather you and Loghain to come to my office and review a missive I received today. I had no idea…"

"No, Commander, I'm the one who should apologize," Varel said, his stoic composure beginning to reassert itself. He ran a hand through his steely hair and glanced at the floor for a moment before raising his eyes to Lhiannon. "I shouldn't be dallying with my assistant; it is inappropriate…"

Crossing the floor of Varel's office, Lhiannon set her hands on her seneschal's shoulders, looking him square in the eye with a gentle smile on her face. She scoffed lightly. "Varel, I am the _last_ person to question the appropriateness of your relationship."

Confusion crossed her seneschal's features, his brows lowering as he studied his commander and her words. "Commander? What…"

Lhiannon scoffed, squeezing Varel's shoulders. "If you have found happiness, who am I to question it? Maker's breath, I'd be as hypocritical as the Chantry if I told you to end it. I won't engage in 'do as I say, not as I do'. I'm not about to get into who sleeps with who around here." Giving Varel's shoulders one last squeeze and a wink, Lhiannon stepped back. "Meet me in my office at your earliest convenience. I received a missive today that I need to discuss with you and Loghain."

Varel nodded, the relief evident in his features. "Yes, Commander. I shall be there shortly."

Lhiannon returned his nod, turning toward the door to find Loghain. She paused in the doorway, her head turning as she looked over her shoulder at her seneschal. "Varel?"

"Yes Commander?"

"I'm glad that you have found happiness. There has been enough darkness around all of us and to find a shining light is truly a blessing."

* * *

Loghain paced Lhiannon's office angrily, stalking back and forth with a dark scowl on his features, the letter from the Second Warden of Weisshaupt tossed angrily onto Lhiannon's desk. Varel sat in a chair across from Lhiannon, his stoic facade back in place. After another moment pacing, Loghain turned and faced both Lhiannon and Varel.

"To the Void with the Orlesians," Loghain growled, pointing an accusing finger at the missive. "They can rot."

"It's the Grey Wardens, Loghain," Lhiannon said, following his movements from where she sat at her desk. "We knew they would start asking questions at some point. Maker's mercy, we just ended a Blight—the first in centuries—and they'll want details for their archives."

Loghain scoffed, slashing his hands through the air. "If you think it's just the Orlesian _Wardens_ asking the questions, then experience and history have taught you nothing. After all, they were coming during the Blight with several _legions_ of chevaliers." Loghain paused and when he spoke again, the sarcasm was so thick it was nearly palpable. "To 'help' us. How very convenient." Taking a long stride toward her desk, Loghain placed his hands on surface, leaning over them and glaring indignantly at Lhiannon. "Ferelden was weakened and they sought to take advantage. They sat at our very border, salivating, just waiting for the word to enter Ferelden and take back what they believed was theirs." He then stood straight, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Grey Wardens so love their secrets. They kept a rather large one from you at your conscription, wouldn't you say? And now they, and Orlais, would seek to learn ours? _Fuck them_ and their debriefing."

"Believe me, Loghain, I agree with you regarding the secretiveness of the Wardens, and most likely Weisshaupt, but we'll be no better than they if we ignore them."

Varel nodded, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "Their missives will only get more insistent with the passage of time and no answer from us."

"I also find it rather ominous that they never mentioned the missing Grey Wardens that were sent to Vigil's Keep," Loghain growled, resuming his agitated pacing. "One would think that they might have mentioned something about that."

Lhiannon shrugged. "If they want to encourage us to come to Orlais, it's going to be with honeyed words, not accusations and suspicions."

"Yes, because they'll save those for when we are on _their_ grounds, where they have the advantage," Loghain scoffed.

Reaching out and picking up the missive, Lhiannon laid it on the desk in front of her, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles that Loghain's agitated clutching had imparted onto the parchment. "In any case, there are other pressing matters ahead of us that take precedence over a trip to Orlais." She began to tick the items off on her fingers. "We need to seal Urthemiel's breach before we can brief the Wardens of Orlais and Weisshaupt; if they cannot understand that, then more fools they. The Landsmeet is coming soon, not to mention to birth of Alistair and Anora's child."

"And your wedding," Varel added, earning a smile from Lhiannon.

"I also wish to make a trip to Gwaren, since we will be nearly there with Urthemiel's breach located in the Brecilian Forest," Loghain said, his gaze falling to the map of Ferelden that adorned one wall of Lhiannon's office. "I will need to see to any final matters with Cauthrien and Thorne and gather what belongings I still have there."

"So see, Loghain," Lhiannon grinned, shrugging her shoulders, "we won't be able to entertain the thought of a trip to Orlais for several months yet. The Grey Wardens need to set matters to rights _here_ first before any trip abroad can be considered; that is our priority. If they are that anxious to speak with us, they can come here." Lhiannon's suggestion was met with a disdainful scoff from Loghain, who gave the crumpled missive on her desk such an angry look, Lhiannon was shocked that it had not burst into flames right in front of their very eyes.

"Shall I pen a response to the Grey Wardens of Orlais for you?" Varel asked, his brows rising. Lhiannon shook her head, glancing at Loghain's pacing form with a grin on her face. "No, Varel. I'll take care of that. I'm sure it will break Loghain's heart though; I know he was probably looking forward to writing that letter himself."

"Watch your impudent tongue, woman," Loghain growled, unable to hide the humor under his tone. "To even suggest I write the letter makes me feel soiled."

A knock on the door drew the attention of those gathered in the room; Lhiannon called out for whoever it was to enter. Leliana was on the other side of the door, with Zevran right on her heels. They quickly entered the office, closing the door behind them hastily, a loud bang reverberating through the room. Lhiannon could see that Leliena was clutching a parchment of her own in her hand and the expression on her friend's face was both worried and excited.

"Lhiannon," she began, her voice somewhat breathless as if she had run up the flights of stairs to Lhiannon's office and chambers. "I've received a return letter from my contacts in Orlais regarding the man Marjolaine mentioned, Clotaire."

Nodding emphatically and motioning with her hand, she urged Leliana to continue. "What have you learned?"

Leliana came forward and sat in the chair next to Varel, Zevran coming behind her and placing his hands on the back of the chair. Opening the letter and glancing down at it, Leliana began to speak. "Clotaire Alune—we have a full name now—is still positioned within the Imperial court, acting as a liaison between the Imperial court and the Grey Wardens in Val Royeaux, since he has had close ties to the Grey Wardens stationed in Val Firmin. Interestingly, his brother, Jean-Rene Alune, has risen within the ranks of the Orlesian Grey Wardens; he is currently the Warden Commander of Orlais."

A indignant snort came from Loghain, who had moved to stand beside Lhiannon as she sat at her desk. "Well, now we know the name of our 'escort' from Val Firmin to Val Royeaux," he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head in apparent disgust. Leliana looked between Lhiannon and Loghain, confusion dawning on her features. "Escort?" she asked.

Lhiannon pointed to the parchment on her desk with the fanciful wax seal. "I and the Ferelden Wardens have been 'invited' to Orlais to regale them with the tale of how we defeated the archdemon."

"They say 'invite'," Loghain snorted indignantly, "what they truly mean is 'summon'."

Lhiannon looked toward Leliana to continue. "What else?"

"Clotaire and Jean-Rene maintain a very close relationship. So close, in fact, that even though Clotaire is a very devout Andrastian and was offered templar training at the Grand Cathedral itself, he turned it down to keep his position at court and continue working with both the court and the Grey Wardens."

Varel nodded from where he sat. "If Clotaire's family worked so hard to position him in court, he would be a fool to walk away, especially if his station is one of influence."

"And if the Empress wanted to keep tabs on the Wardens, especially when it looked like the Blight would destroy Ferelden, she would want someone in court with close ties to them," Lhiannon added, tapping her finger on the top of her desk. "Orlais would have been next on the archdemon's list of lands to pillage."

"Does he visit the Grand Cathedral often?" Loghain asked. "Does he have a link between the cathedral and the court? And how does Marjolaine fit into all of this?"

Leliana shook her head. "The letter doesn't say. I think my contact may have been overly cautious and chose not to divulge such things in writing. Either that, or there was nothing learned." She paused for a moment. "I suspect Clotaire is more firmly ingrained in the court than even we suspected. Asking too many questions regarding a highly placed courtier could bring unwelcome scrutiny. It needs to be done with discretion so that the wrong sort of attention is not brought about. We may need to take further measures."

"What are you suggesting?" Loghain asked, a dark scowl crossing his face.

Leliana turned to regard the pacing Loghain, seeing the look on his face and not looking forward to his reaction on what she was about to suggest. "We need to employ a spy ourselves. A bard, if you will."

Loghain scoffed, hands balling into fists as he glared at Leliana. "Bards; how _Orlesian_." He resumed his angry pacing, his face pinched in thought. Leliana thought about mentioning how Loghain had employed spies of his own during the civil war, but quickly thought better about bringing up that particular subject. Loghain was prickly and irritable enough; bringing up his own spies would be like throwing fuel on an already raging fire.

"Hire a bard?" Lhiannon asked, her eyes following Loghain as he paced and thought about Leliana's suggestion. "Just how does one go about procuring their services?" She heard Loghain snort at the suggestion, but he refrained from comment, scathing or otherwise.

Leliana turned in her seat, facing Lhiannon once more. Lhiannon watched as Zevran put a gentle hand on Leliana's shoulder. "I offer to go myself."

Lhiannon studied Leliana for a moment, turning her options over in her mind. Spies were tricky business with flexible loyalties; she had no doubts about that. For all the coin they could use to procure the services of a bard, it would likely only take one more sovereign for that bard to turn on them. Lhiannon had implicit trust in Leliana; no matter what an adversary offered, Leliana would not turn. She believed serving the Grey Wardens was her duty, to both herself and the Maker. It was her faith in the Maker and His path that swayed Lhiannon. There was no one better for this suggested mission than Leliana herself.

"Leliana, you are sure about this?" Lhiannon asked.

Nodding emphatically, Leliana answered with resolve in her voice. "I am, Commander. We need to know exactly how Clotaire fits in with the court and the Orlesian Grey Wardens. We also need to find out more about his connections with Marjolaine; lovers they may have been, but there must be more there than meets the eye." She paused for a moment. "This, Commander, is what I have trained many years for. I know how the Grand Game is played in Orlais. We do not have the time to screen and hire an adequate bard."

Loghain's keen gaze was focused on Leliana, drumming his fingers on his crossed arms as she spoke. "Will you also try to determine why Marjolaine went to Greenwood Vale? That and who sent her?"

Leliana nodded once more. "If i certainly can, I will. I will strive to find the real links between Clotaire, Marjolaine, Greenwood Vale, the Imperial court, and the Grey Wardens in Val Royeaux."

"You will be sensed as a Grey Warden by the Wardens in Orlais," Loghain said "How will you explain that? Surely they will have a roster of Orlesian Wardens and will question your origins."

Lhiannon shrugged, raising her brows. "I suppose she could say she was recruited in Ferelden before Ostagar and had been delayed in arriving at the battle."

"But certainly word has spread far that Leliana was part of the party that was responsible for the fall of the archdemon," Zevran said, his hands still gripping the back of the chair Leliana sat on. "Surely she cannot go into Orlais under her own name. Thankfully, the tales regarding the Wardens and the death of the archdemon revolve around just _two _Wardens and not three."

"Of course I can't use my own name," Leliana scoffed. "That _would _be suicide."

"So let us recall what we know," Loghain said, beginning to tick off points on his fingers. "We suspect Marjolaine was at the Grand Cathedral at some point, given that she gave Burne the Dagger of the Faithful. We know there had been, at one time, a connection between Clotaire and Marjolaine."

"And we know Clotaire is still part of the Imperial court and that his brother is the Commander of the Orlesian Grey Wardens," Lhiannon added, gesturing lightly with her hand. "Find what connections he has within and outside the court. I want to know them all, no matter how small or insignificant sounding."

Loghain turned his attention to Zevran. "And what of you? I suspect you wish to accompany her?"

Zevran nodded emphatically. "Indeed, I would go with her."

"It's my understanding that elves aren't looked on very fondly in Orlais," Lhiannon said, raising her brows in questioning. "How will you explain yourself?"

Leliana snorted lightly. "An available Crow is too tempting an offer for any noble family with adequate coin to resist."

"And I shall command an exorbitant amount of coin," Zevran grinned. "Such exorbitant fees will surely bring the nobles running, no? After all, who could resist me?"

Lhiannon made a noise somewhere between a giggle and a snort. "Who, indeed?"

Loghain leveled a stern gaze at Leliana. "No matter what happens or whatever promises or threats are made to you, under no circumstances should your real name be divulged," Loghain said, slashing a hand through the air in emphasis. "You also cannot divulge the fact that the Commander recruited you as a Warden. Your story of being recruited in Ferelden before Ostagar should pass, since both Riordan and Duncan are dead and your story cannot be verified with them."

"I understand."

Lhiannon nodded, her approval for the plan evident. "When would you be leaving?"

Leliana and Zevran shared a glance before turning back to Lhiannon. "I think sooner rather than later would be best."

"There is one more thing," Varel spoke, looking to each person gathered in turn. "Marjolaine."

Lhiannon nodded once before she turned to regard Loghain. "What is your opinion on the matter?"

Loghain scoffed lightly. "I believe her usefulness is nearing an end. Perhaps one more round of interogation with this new information can be conducted." He paused for a moment, considering. "After that, I feel we will be able to get little more from her; she likely will not know much of the plot beyond this Clotaire, if the bards have held to only sharing information between the person she receives orders from and the person she relays orders to."

"Then this shall be the last interrogation," Lhiannon nodded. "Get her on her feet again and keep her there until she answers this last round of questioning." She paused for a moment, looking at her small parchment showing the days of the current year on it. "I will speak to the King and Queen about Marjolaine's fate when they arrive; normally, executing a foreign citizen would cause an incident. In this case, if Orlais acknowledges her, it will all but scream proof of their involvement in her plots. I do not doubt the King and Queen will agree. As soon as they approve, Marjolaine goes to the gallows."

* * *

_The next chapter sees the final plans made for Leliana and Zevran's road trip, as well as a little girl time between Leliana and Lhiannon. Someone has a wedding dress to try on, after all. ;)_

___Well, ____I'__m off to Minneapolis on business again next week. I anticip______ate the ne________________xt few weeks will be crazy busy with software testing, but I will certainly work hard to get the next chapter up on schedule._

_My heartfelt appreciation goes out to Tyanilth, Shakespira, and Gene Dark for putting up with me whining this week. ;)_

_I have a new drawing out on deviantART if you are interested. It's a pic of Lhi and Loghain getting all huggy. I'm still trying to find my drawing skills again, so please, be gentle. This is the link (without spaces): http:/ josielange. deviantart. com/ #/d3__ihiln_

_I also posted a one-shot, "Saarebas", based on a little innuendo that took place in the last chapter. Fair warning though...it is NSFW and has a degree of BDSM, so read it if you dare. ;)_

_Thanks and appreciation go out to reviewers Shakespira, Dante Alighieri, Aura of Darkess Night, Enaid Aderyn (who inspired me to write my one-shot "Saarebas"; thanks again!__), Arsinoe, icey, JackOfBladesX, Tyanilth, cloud1004 (who was a reading machine!), Dark Chubb, __and naomis8329 (who was also a reading machine!)._

_As always, I very much appreciate all of you for reading, reviewing, PM-ing, and marking the story as a favorite!_


	24. No Matter the Distance

Silence reigned in Lhiannon's office for several moments, each person present reflecting on the plans Leliana had suggested and Lhiannon's proclamation that Marjolaine's time on the face of Ferelden was nearing an end. Loghain rubbed his chin with a hand, his eyes flicking between his Commander and the others gathered in the room, finally settling on Leliana and studying her intently. The Orlesian's suggestion that she travel to Orlais to gather information had merit; even he could see that. Loghain saw spies as a necessary evil, a tool to be employed when less direct methods of information gathering and observation were required. Spies suited a purpose and as much as he preferred a more direct approach in his political or military dealings, he understood the need for discretion and secrecy in this case. The Commander's life could depend on the information Leliana gleaned from Orlais.

"How do you plan on making inroads in Val Royeaux?" Loghain asked, his icy gaze commanding Leliana's attention; just speaking the name of the hateful Orlesian capital left a sour taste in Loghain's mouth. "You can hardly just arrive in the city and begin asking questions out of the blue."

"Not without attracting the wrong attention," Varel agreed.

Leliana shifted in her chair, uncrossing and recrossing her legs as she changed positions. "I was going to start in the Grand Cathedral; perhaps as a lay sister on a pilgrimage after spending time in a country reeking of wet dog."

Lhiannon heard Loghain's low growl from beside her; he tolerated Leliana's presence on the best of days, but hearing the bard besmirch his beloved Ferelden was nearly enough to make his blood boil. "Loghain, Leliana is merely playing a part," Lhiannon calmly stated, seeking to defuse his temper before it could begin to spill over. "It's what bards do."

Loghain merely snorted with derision.

"It will likely take some time for me to ingratiate myself into the Grand Cathedral before I can begin uncovering pertinent information," Leliana explained, her gaze moving between Lhiannon, Loghain, and Varel. "I can, of course, try to search within the available records for information in the meantime: templar rosters, records of who has a Dagger of the Faithful, or any other information that may be of use."

Lhiannon's hand rose to her earlobe, where she fidgeted with the hoops in her ears. "See if they have any information on Greenwood Vale. Somehow, they _have _to be connected, but how? I want to know everything they know about the village." She tapped a fingernail on the top of her desk, the small tap seemingly loud in the silence of the room. "Templars have been going there for years on pilgrimages. It can't be just because they are fanatically devoted to the Chantry and the Canticle of Transfigurations. There _must_ be more."

"You don't know _why_ the templars frequent the village?" Varel asked.

Lhiannon shook her head. "I was just a young teen when I was taken to Kinloch Hold. The Chantry kept a tight lid on information regarding the templars and just why they visited. The story I was told was that templars visited Greenwood Vale to seek enlightenment before hunting apostates and maleficars." Lhiannon scoffed, scowling as she did so. "Of course, they found burning mages at the stake to be great fun."

"If there is something to be found, I'll find it," Leliana vowed.

"As for myself," Zevran said, his hands now resting on Leliana's shoulders and kneading them gently, "I shall begin my quest in the seedier parts of Val Royeaux; taverns with watered down ale and seedy brothels." The assassin sighed wistfully, a smirk crossing his features. "Places that remind me of home in Antiva."

"There are always nobles, or those attached to them, in the seedier establishments," Leliana explained. "Orlesian nobles like to 'rut with the little people' from time to time."

"No doubt seeking adoration from the commoners," Loghain scoffed. "Putting themselves on display to flatter their overblown egos."

"Sometimes," Leliana agreed. "Other times it is to escape the trappings of court life."

Zevran chuckled, low and mischievously. "In either case, nobles with grudges, curiosity, and coin to spend can be found in such establishments. For a trained Crow, they are easy to spot; for an elf with sharper eyes and ears than humans, even more so."

Loghain's gaze moved between Leliana and Zevran. "Follow any pertinent leads you find," he began, leveling a finger and stern gaze on each one, "no matter how insignificant. Leave no stone unturned." Loghain's scrutiny fell once more onto the wrinkled and hated missive from the Second Warden—the _Orlesian _Second Warden. "You will send coded messages back whenever possible. Before you leave, we will work out a cipher for you to use."

Varel turned in his chair to regard Leliana directly. "If you are discovered as a Grey Warden while in the Grand Cathedral—and you very well may be discovered if there are strict Andrastians within the Orlesian Wardens—how will you explain yourself?"

"I doubt you can be a lay sister and Warden both without raising questions," Lhiannon agreed. "Best to have a story in place now."

Leliana shrugged slightly, her lips pursing in thought. "I could always say that my delay in getting to Ostagar caused me a great deal of guilt; that I failed the people of Ferelden and need absolution for that failure. The only place I can find it is within the Chantry." She smirked slightly. "Even though Ferelden smells like wet dog, my duty was to protect the people from the darkspawn and I failed in that task."

Lhiannon drummed her fingers on the top of her desk, her eyes wandering over the different pieces of parchment strewn about. She then thought about the package safely hidden away in the large drawer of her desk, anxious to take the package to Lillian's shop, especially now that Leliana's departure for Orlais was imminent. Leliana would never forgive her if she did not see Lhiannon in her wedding dress at least once.

"Give me a list of supplies you will need for your trip," Lhiannon said, setting aside the thoughts of her dress and pulling a blank parchment from her desk, scratching notes upon the surface. "You mentioned leaving for Orlais sooner rather than later; when were you thinking of leaving?"

Leliana turned her face up to Zevran with a small shrug of her shoulders. "We can be on our way by the end of the week, yes?" Zevran nodded his agreement.

Lhiannon stood, watching as the others in the room stood along with her, sensing their meeting was nearing a conclusion. "Give me that list by the end of the day today. I'll also give you a number of sovereigns to take with you. For now, I think we are finished."

"The next courier for Orzammar should be here tomorrow, Commander, should you wish to pen a response to Orlais by then," Varel said.

"I'll send the response with the following messenger, Varel. I need to think carefully about the answer I wish to send." Lhiannon paused, turning to glance at Loghain; clearly, he was unhappy with any sort of response to Orlais. "I want a couple of days to think about and pen an appropriate response."

Moments later, Lhiannon and Loghain were alone, the door to their chambers closed to afford them a few moments of privacy. Lhiannon could sense his irritation; the letter from the Wardens in Orlais having put him in a foul mood indeed. He had moved to the window behind her desk, glowering outside. She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and settling her head onto his back. She heard a light snort from Loghain as his hands moved to cover hers.

"I still say to the Void with the Orlesians and their missive."

"I know," Lhiannon sighed. "I'd rather not have to deal with them either, but the longer we go ignoring them, the more insistent they will become. We'd have Weisshaupt banging on our door before long."

"Whatever information you give them—no matter how innocuous it seems—will be turned against us."

Loghain felt Lhiannon suddenly pull away and he turned to face her. She wore a hard expression on her face and two small pink blotches were appearing on her cheekbones. He could sense her irritation beginning to rise.

"Loghain, you know damn well that if we ignore them, their next letter won't be written with honeyed words. They're likely to send messengers with very large, very pointed swords. In number."

With an indignant wave of his hand, Loghain brushed her words aside. "You don't _know_ them as I do, _Commander_," he snarled, his eyes narrowing in anger. "I have fought them in one way or another for nearly _four decades; _since I was but a young boy. I think I know them and how they think. This cannot be a mere missive seeking information and their dire need for our presence in Orlais."

"I never said you didn't know them, _Second,_" Lhiannon retorted angrily, taking a step closer and balling her fists. Her short nails dug into the palms of her hands and her fingers ached from the tension of how tight she clenched them. "You don't think I _know_ the depravity the Orlesians have caused Ferelden in the past? I was at Kinloch Hold, remember? I _saw_ the aftermath of what they did when Remille took over. And not just the physical scars left on the building." Lhiannon's own eyes narrowed and she brought up a finger to emphasize a point; Loghain could see the marks her own fingernails left in the palm of her hand, small half-moons that were turning an angry red as he watched.

"Remille and his Orlesian allies _tortured_ Ferelden mages that wouldn't just bow down to him quietly. Oh no; he made sure that those who defied him carried the scars of their defiance. Some of those mages who resisted were little more than _children_. I _saw_ what had become of them, years after the fact." She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "Do you know of Marcas, the Tranquil proprietor from "The Wonders of Thedas" in Denerim? He used to be a proprietor at Kinloch Hold."

Loghain's brow furrowed; he knew of the man from that very store in the marketplace as well as the few trips he had taken to Kinloch Hold over the years. Traveling to the Circle of Magi had never been one of Loghain's favorite things to do as Teyrn under Maric's reign, but he had accompanied him there on the few occasions Maric decided to pay an official visit. As much as Kinloch Hold made Loghain's skin crawl, he was not about to let Maric go there alone, not after Remille.

"Yes, I know of him. What of him?"

"Marcas had been a talented entropic mage in his youth. He was from the Waking Sea bannorn," Lhiannon began, crossing her arms over her chest. "When Remille took over Kinloch Hold, Marcas led a group of mages to try and reclaim the tower and put down Remille and his lackeys. They failed, of course, and when Marcas was brought before Remille, that Orlesian piece of shit made Marcas Tranquil. With his templar allies watching and assisting, Remille performed the ritual himself, slowly, so Marcas suffered as his connection to the Fade was ripped away, piece by piece. The senior mages forced to watch said Marcus screamed in pain for _hours_, begging for death as his emotional core was systematically and methodically torn away in tiny pieces, so that he could _feel_ every emotional string within him being severed." Lhiannon glared once more at Loghain, pointing her finger at him accusingly. "So _don't you dare_ insinuate that I know _nothing_ of the depravity of misguided Orlesians. Or misguided people in general."

"I was not inferring that you knew nothing of Orlesians." Loghain threw his hands up in the air. "Maker's breath, woman, you are nothing if not exasperating sometimes."

"And you're not, by questioning why we need to send a response to the Orlesian Wardens? Who is to say that their missive isn't the result of a direct order from Weisshaupt? It did come from their Second Warden."

"It had the seal of the Orlesian Grey Wardens on it. It originated in Orlais, not Weisshaupt."

"What would you have me do, Loghain?" Lhiannon snorted, her voice holding more venom than she had intended. "What would _you _do in my place? Tear up the missive and burn it? Ignore it? Send the bloody thing back with 'go to hell' scrawled on it?"

Loghain snorted derisively, turning around to face Lhiannon. "Weisshaupt did not see fit to send any help to us during the Blight. And don't say that they sent the Orlesian Wardens; that was Celene's idea of 'help'. Orlesian Grey Wardens backed by legions of chevaliers. That bitch was likely trying to take advantage of our ill fortune."

"Perhaps she was. Besides, I don't intend on putting anything in writing that any unscrupulous scamp can sell to any jackass on the road." Lhiannon scoffed angrily, throwing her hands up in the air and taking a step away. She felt Loghain's hand grip her arm, pulling her roughly to him before his arms wrapped around her body. She held herself stiffly, seeking to back away, but Loghain held her tightly.

"I do not wish to fight with you, Lhiannon."

With a tired sigh, Lhiannon gave up the struggle and rested her head against Loghain's chest. "Nor I with you." She stilled her breathing and listened to his heartbeat, a sound that she never tired of hearing. It beat steady and strong, defying the taint coursing through his veins. "At any rate, the return missive doesn't need to be written right away."

They stood in silence for several minutes, each holding the other and listening to the beating of a heart or the small inhales and exhales of breath. Loghain nuzzled the top of Lhiannon's head, his nose being gently tickled by strands of Lhiannon's dark hair. "Before I forget," Loghain stated, dropping a light kiss on the top of Lhiannon's head, "I received messaging birds from Denerim and Gwaren today. Cauthrien is already on her way here and should arrive within a week. She and her retinue are traveling over land rather than chance the spring storms on the Amaranthine Ocean."

"And the message from Denerim?"

"They should be here in just over a week."

"So Cauthrien will be here first?"

"Yes," Loghain confirmed, "which is all well and good. We can speak of matters in Gwaren before Anora and Alistair arrive."

Lhiannon burrowed herself in closer to Loghain, feeling the gentle heat of his body through his clothing and she sighed in contentment. "Does Cauthrien know of your plans for abdication of your title and naming her steward in your stead?"

"I don't doubt that she suspects something of the like. Cauthrien is nothing if not shrewd; she knows that I cannot be in two places at once, no matter how much I may have tried to be in the past." Loghain paused, a slightly melancholy sigh—barely audible—escaped his lips. "When I was married to Celia, I spent far too much time away from Gwaren; too much time away from her and Anora. Cauthrien knew this." _Maric knew it too and no matter how much he said I should return to Gwaren, I didn't; perhaps things could have been better between Celia, Anora, and I, had I listened._ There was another pause and before he spoke again, Lhiannon felt his arms tighten around her, almost possessively. "I would not make the same mistake again. Cauthrien will be a fine steward until an heir is ready to take their place." He held Lhiannon, turning both of them so that they could look out the window over the arling; their arling and home. He saw his expression in the window become wistful; when he thought of home, it was not Denerim or even Gwaren he thought of any longer. Home was Amaranthine. Home was Vigil's Keep. Home was with her.

"Loghain, may I suggest something?"

Loghain pulled his head back from where it rested atop Lhiannon's head. He looked into her dark eyes, seeing a question in their depths. He raised a single brow. "Of course."

"Since the wedding is less than two weeks away now, perhaps we should consider a temporary change in living arrangements."

The brow that was raised now fell, a look of wary confusion on Loghain's face. Lhiannon chuckled. She placed a finger on the skin between his eyes, running it down his nose to his lips, where he softly kissed the tip of her finger. Her finger continued its downward path, over the bare skin of his chin and neck before traveling over his tunic and down his chest. She stopped when her finger reached the ties holding his trousers closed, running her finger over the seam. She looked up at him, dark eyes glittering with mirth. "I thought of staying in one of the guest rooms until then. You know, to make our wedding night...sweeter..."

"Shameless minx," he growled, lowering his face to hers in a searing kiss, all lips, teeth, and tongue. After plundering her mouth with his tongue, he pulled back. "If we are to be parted until then, than I shall have to make this last encounter as an unmarried man count." He stepped back from her and went to the door, running the bolt before turning back to Lhiannon, a deep hunger suddenly in his eyes. He reached out and grasped her, blistering her lips with another searing, hungry kiss as fingers began to fuss with clasps and ties. As the last of their clothing drifted to the floor, he swiped the paperwork off her desk, parchments and tomes littering the floor nearby. He pushed her onto the top of the desk, molding his body to hers as what papers remained rustled beneath her skin. He took her for the last time as Lhiannon Amell. The next time he worshipped her body with his, she would be Lhiannon Mac Tir; Loghain growled in approval.

* * *

"Leliana, come with me."

Lhiannon stood in the doorway to the room that Leliana and Zevran shared, packing her Chantry robes and other clothing and supplies for her mission to Orlais. Her hair was damp, the result of Leliana coloring her flaming red and attention getting hair a more mousy and unassuming brown. The bard turned, seeing Lhiannon in the doorway with a bulky package and pair of shoes in her hands. Leliana quickly rushed forward, taking the shoes from Lhiannon's hand and examining them closely. They were simple dress shoes, soft black suede with small beads stitched into the surface and heel.

"Ooh, these are lovely, Lhiannon. Where did you get them?"

Motioning with her head, Lhiannon began to walk through the hallway of the Vigil, Leliana at her side with shoes in hand. "You know Lillian, the woman with the general merchandise store next to Wade and Herren's shop? Her employee Katarina found them for me on a trip to Amaranthine."

"Katarina," Leliana said questioningly, "she's the pregnant one, yes?"

"Yes," Lhiannon confirmed, stepping through the doorway of the Vigil that Leliana held open and stepping out into the bright afternoon sun. The days were finally becoming warmer, signaling that Ferelden's short summer was not all that far off. She indicated the package in her hands with her chin. "This is my wedding dress."

"You've had your dress and didn't show it to me? Lhiannon!"

"It just arrived just before you came into my office. I had to hide it in my desk so Loghain wouldn't see it." Lhiannon grinned and winked. "I know better than to try and hide such a thing from you."

Leliana danced in front of Lhiannon, braids in her hair bouncing on her head as she skipped in front of Lhiannon. "Oh, I can't wait to see it on you! That is what we are doing, yes? Oh, please say it is! I so want to see you in your dress before I leave for Orlais!"

With a scoff and laugh, Lhiannon nodded. "Yes, Leliana. That's what we're doing. I wouldn't think of denying you seeing me in my wedding dress before you left for Orlais." She looked at Leliana's hair, studying it for a moment. "How did you get your hair that color?"

Leliana laughed, running her fingers through her damp locks. "It's a simple recipe; a mixture of walnut husks and cloves, boiled for several hours and steeped for several days. It is labor intensive, but it works. I always have a mixture ready. I'm actually making more for the trip to Orlais."

"And how do you keep your hair dark?"

"Strong coffee or tea rinsed through it."

"And that's it?"

Leliana giggled once more. "That's it."

The friends passed by Wade and Herren's shop, giving Herren a small wave as he watched them pass by his window. Herren, not surprisingly, merely rolled his eyes and scoffed silently when Lhiannon and Leliana passed. _Sourpuss_, Lhiannon thought. Wade quickly looked up at the last second, waving at the passing women while he held a tool in his hand.

Leliana reached out and pushed the door of Lillian's shop open, the tinkling of the bell above the door alerting the shopkeeper to their presence. She looked up from where she was jotting figures in a ledger, smiling broadly as Lhiannon and Leliana entered the shop.

Warden Commander! Warden Leliana!" she exclaimed, picking up the ledger and moving toward a door at the back of the main room. "Come. Katarina and I have been expecting you."

Moving through the back door of the shop, Lhiannon saw Katarina near a small pedestal, a small case on the floor nearby brimming with thimbles, needles, and thread. At the sound of the visitors, she turned and stood, a wide smile crossing her features as her eyes met Lhiannon's. Her stomach was becoming rounded, a sign of her advancing pregnancy.

"Warden Commander!" she exclaimed, coming forward to give Lhiannon a hug as Lillian took the dress and began to remove it from its packaging. Lhiannon gently hugged her new friend, giggling like a schoolgirl at the protrusion of Katarina's stomach.

"Please, call me Lhiannon. You look radiant, Katarina. Are you feeling well?"

Katarina nodded emphatically. "I am, Lhiannon. Oh! Before I forget, Wade will be stopping by in a short while; he's finished his project for you."

Lhiannon's face lit up in a bright smile; she had charged Katarina with keeping tabs on Wade and the project involving the blue silverite that had been procured for him. Now that the wedding was less than two weeks away, Wade should be done with the project; at least, Lhiannon hoped he was. Maker help him if he was not.

She was guided to a privacy screen in one corner of the small room. Leliana followed close behind, admiring the blue silk of the dress as Lhiannon took off her simple tunic and trousers. Leliana helped Lhiannon maneuver into the dress, a bright smile crossing the bard's face as the dress settled on Lhiannon's frame. Lhiannon turned around, gazing down at the under and over sleeves of the dress as Leliana laced up and tied the back of her dress. Once the laces were tied, Leliana handed Lhiannon the delicate belt with the silverite and jeweled details. Lhiannon slipped it around her waist, loosely securing the belt in place and straightening the long end as it fell to the front of her body. As she turned to face Leliana, the bard's eyes went wide and a large smile crossed her features.

"Oh Lhiannon," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper, "you look…beautiful. There are no other words I can use. Loghain will be so pleased."

Lhiannon gently grasped the fabric of her dress, lifting the skirt up so she could slip into her shoes in preparation for her fitting. Once her shoes were in place, she moved to the small pedestal in the room, stepping on top and watching with keen interest as Lillian, Katarina, and Leliana began pinning the bottom hem of the dress in place.

Looking up, Lhiannon caught her reflection in a mirror before her. Anora had chosen the dress well, picking a shade of blue that set off Lhiannon's dark hair and eyes and emphasized the fairness of her skin. Lhiannon smiled; she hardly recognized herself in such a fine dress. Not even the gown she wore to the royal wedding and coronation was as fine as the dress the Queen picked. Then again, it was not every day that one got married.

The tinkling of the bell at the entrance to the store drew Katarina away from where she had been pinning Lhiannon's dress. Excusing herself, she moved to the front of the store. Lhiannon heard her call out a greeting to the guest and usher them toward the back of the store. A moment later, Katarina arrived with Master Wade at her heels, a small package in his hands.

"Warden Commander!" Wade exclaimed, bringing his hands up to his chin and eyes glittering with excitement, "I must say that you look simply scrumptious in that gown."

_Scrumptious? That isn't necessarily a term that I would use, but whatever floats his boat, I suppose._

Wade then flitted across the room to plunk himself down on the floor between Leliana and Lillian, dropping his small package in the space between his legs and picking up a small pincushion to help pin the bottom hem of the gown into the right position. "Lillian, I wasn't aware that you were such an accomplished seamstress; I simply _must_ have you hem a dress that I have at home. It is just a smidgen too long and I keep tripping over it."

Lhiannon turned her head and looked down at Wade, her eyebrows shooting skyward. "You…have a dress…?" She bit down on the inside of her cheek as giggles threatened to overtake her. Men wearing masculine mage robes were one thing; a man in a woman's dress was another matter altogether. The picture of masculine armorer Wade flitting about in a delicate dress ran through her brain unchecked; she bit down on her cheek even harder.

"Why, yes, Warden Commander," Wade exclaimed, inserting a pin into the hem of the dress and moving on to the next small section of gown that needed to be pinned. "I do so love wearing dresses from time to time. They are very liberating; far less constrictive than trousers. Herren likes me to wear them as well. I do so love to indulge him."

Silence descended on the room, the women all turning to regard Wade with looks ranging from disbelief to outright confusion. Wade was not deterred. "I do prefer empire waist gowns; very flattering to the figure and tend to hide…things…that you don't want revealed. At least, not right away."

_Well, that is certainly more information than I needed to know,_ Lhiannon thought to herself, fighting to keep the giggles at bay and frantically searching her mind for something with which to change the subject. She then remembered the small packet that Wade had carried in with him. She cleared her throat, forcing aside the threat of giggles. "Wade, was that package for me?"

"Oh yes, Commander," Wade said, picking the package up from between his legs and quickly standing. He peeled back the cloth, revealing a small wooden box. "I do so hope you will be happy. You know how much I hate working with such mundane materials as blue silverite, but for you, I will always make an exception." Wade pulled the top back, reaching in with his thumb and forefinger and plucking a small object out of the box. Lhiannon gave him a broad smile as she reached out and took the object from Wade's fingertips.

It was a thick, masculine ring made of blue silverite, identical in shape and design to the betrothal ring adorning her hand. Even the etchings on the outside were similar to hers; where the etchings on her ring were delicate and feminine, the etchings on this ring were heavier and more masculine. She examined the outer surface of the ring for a moment before looking to the inside, seeing the etchings on the inside as well. After reading the inscription inside, she turned her attention to Wade with a bright smile. "It's beautiful, Wade. You've done an exceptional job. I can't thank you enough."

No, no, it was my pleasure," Wade said, waving a hand through the air. "Though, I must insist that the next time you commission an article for me, _please_ give me a less mundane material to work with."

* * *

Lhiannon and Leliana walked back to the Vigil, leaving the dress at Lillian's shop where it could be both altered and kept out of Loghain's sight. The excitement of Lhiannon's dress fitting was fading, being replaced by a melancholy feeling borne of knowing that she and her friend would soon be parted. Lhiannon had wanted Leliana at her side when she married, but the mission to Orlais had to take precedence. The safety of the Grey Wardens, Amaranthine, and Ferelden herself had to take precedence over her personal wishes. Their steps slowed as they approached a small bench just outside the steps of the Vigil; Leliana reached over and took Lhiannon's hand, guiding her over to the bench and sitting down.

"I'm sorry I won't be here for you," Leliana sighed, sadness in her voice. Lhiannon placed her other hand over Leliana's, holding the bard's one hand in both of hers.

"I am too. All of my ladies will be gone on missions. Not exactly what I had envisioned." Lhiannon sighed, her eyes casting downward to look at the ground near her feet. "But you're right; the mission to Orlais has to be undertaken right away. We cannot afford to wait and let whatever plans these conspirators have to come to fruition."

"I was so looking forward to singing a ballad for you," Leliana giggled. "I had this amazing tale spun of how you and Loghain moved from enemies to lovers. It was an epic tale."

Lhiannon chuckled, squeezing Leliana's hand. "You'll just have to regale us with the tale when you return from Orlais."

"Oh, you can count on that, my dear." Leliana then stood, gently pulling Lhiannon to her feet and pulling her toward the door to the Vigil. "Come with me, Lhi. I have something for you."

Allowing herself to be pulled through the halls of the Vigil, Lhiannon's curiosity began to peak. "What is it, Leli? What have you done now?"

"Oh no, you won't get me to talk," Leliana gently admonished, shaking a finger at Lhiannon as they continued through the hall. They arrived at Leliana and Zevran's room, moving through the doorway where Leliana pulled Lhiannon toward a small locked chest perched on top of a dresser. Leliana pulled a small key from a ring in her pocket, opening the chest and reaching inside. She pulled forth a delicate silver diadem, a small teardrop pearl suspended from the center of the piece. Leliana turned, showing it to Lhiannon before gently settling it onto her friend's head.

"There," Leliana said, satisfaction in her voice. "I think this will look perfect for you on your wedding day." She reached for a small hand mirror on her dresser, holding it up before Lhiannon so she could see the diadem.

Lhiannon peered into the mirror, gasping with delight as her fingers reached up and gently touched the delicate silver piece, running her fingers over the cool metal as a smile turned up the corners of her mouth and her eyes misted with tears. "It's beautiful, Leli."

"This is my gift to you for your wedding," Leliana said, holding up her hands as Lhiannon began to shake her head in protest. "I won't hear 'no' from you, Lhi. I want you to have this." Leliana's eyes then changed, glittering with mirth. "I also have something else for you." She opened a drawer in her dresser and rummaged through it for a moment before pulling a small scrap of fabric from inside. Leliana turned and showed it to Lhiannon, whose brow had lowered in confusion at the small fabric packet in her friend's hands. With a grin, Leliana opened the cloth, revealing a small lacy garter, frilly, feminine, and racy all at the same time. Lhiannon looked up from where the lacy bit of fabric lay in her friend's hand, a cheeky grin crossing her face as she met Leliana's eyes.

"Well, what do you think, Lhi?"

"I think Loghain will very much enjoy hunting for this little surprise."

Lhiannon reached out suddenly, pulling Leliana into a tight, fierce hug. Tears filled her eyes, a sense of melancholy filling her at the thought of her friend not only missing her wedding, but being sent off into danger at her behest. "I'll miss you, my friend," Lhiannon whispered, the words very nearly sticking in her throat. "More than you could ever know."

Sadness and melancholy passed through the taint between them for a moment before being replaced by a warm love that only two friends can have between them. Leliana fought to hold back a sob, turning her head to place a light kiss on Lhiannon's cheek. "You'll always be in my heart, my dear, dear friend. No matter the distance between us, I will always be with you."

* * *

_"He pushed her onto the top of the desk, molding his body to hers as what papers remained rustled beneath her skin_._" A show of hands here, dear readers; how many of you giggled? ;) __If you are not already aware, the very talented Enaid Aderyn borrowed Lhi and Loghain last weekend and wrote a one-shot called "Paperwork." It was fate that she wrote what she did when she did; this chapter has been mostly written for two or three weeks and had some smut already in it. When I wrote it, Loghain had sexy time with Lhiannon on the floor behind her desk. After Enaid wrote "Paperwork", I just HAD to tweak it. If you haven't read it, do yourself a favor and read it. Thanks again Enaid; I salute your evil little mind!_

_Speaking of evil little minds, those Cheeky Monkeys were at it again last week. I got run over by a runaway bus and wrote a one-shot called "A Lesson Not Learned." Lhi found a bottle of Antivan brandy again; you know she gets rather silly when the Antivan is around. If you could read and review it, I'd appreciate it._

_I just made up a name and little bit of back story for the Tranquil proprietor of The Wonders of Thedas in Denerim. ;) _

_I know there's a lot of girl time in this story; please bear with me, gentlemen. Weddings are big things for the ladies. We'll get back to the sex and violence soon enough. ;)  
_

_Special thanks to reviewers naomis8329, cloud1004, Shakespira, Aura, Arsinoe, icey, Tyanilth, JackOfBladesX, Enaid Aderyn, Dante Alighieri, Dark Chubb, and Gene Dark (who was a reading and reviewing machine!). Gene put this tale over the 200 review mark (hooray!)...thanks to all of you who have reviewed! I never would have come this far without all of you._

_To all the readers, lurkers, and those who mark the story...thank you!  
_


	25. More Questions Than Answers

The rain had been falling steadily for the last two days of the journey north. It had started as Cauthrien and her entourage neared Dragon's Peak and Denerim; from the looks of the dark clouds spanning the western sky, Cauthrien surmised that the rain would not be ending any time soon. Her cloak and riding leathers were soaked through, chafing uncomfortably against her wet and wrinkled skin. Mud—and likely other substances from the horses—coated her boots and the leathers covering her lower legs. The only respite she had against the rain was when she huddled in her tent when they made camp, shivering in her bedroll. Cauthrien was accustomed to the hardships of travel and camp, but her patience began to be tested as the cool rain continued to fall. As soon as they arrived at Vigil's Keep, Cauthrien intended to seek out one of the mages there for healing and rejuvenation. She normally did not seek treatment from mages for most minor aches and pains, but after two days in the mud and rain, every past injury was making itself known and she wanted immediate relief.

When the Teyrn's letter arrived in Gwaren several weeks ago, Cauthrien immediately began consulting with Thorne and readying a compliment of men for her trip north to Amaranthine. She had been concerned for the Teyrn; his problems, after all, were her problems as his advisor and lieutenant. The Teyrn was gravely concerned about _his_ commander, and not just because she was his betrothed either. Teyrn Loghain was gravely concerned about the _who_ behind the attack on the Warden Commander. He did not go into great detail regarding his concerns in writing, no doubt seeking to give her that information when she arrived.

Cauthrien had been wary of the Warden Commander when they first met; after all, this was the woman who killed Rendon Howe, but that was not the reason for her wariness. Seeing Rendon Howe burning on a pyre had not bothered Cauthrien in the least. It was, in her opinion, what he deserved for causing the Teyrn more problems than he needed at a time he could least afford them. What bothered her was her role in putting the Warden Commander into Howe's not so tender mercies. Cauthrien had done what she thought was _right_; she and the Teyrn were trying to keep Ferelden together and keep the Orlesians from sending their 'help' across the border. At the time, it looked like the Warden Commander was an agent of Orlais and Cauthrien had been honor bound to keep the Orlesians out of Ferelden. Taking even one step over the border would have been too far.

It was after she received word that Howe had tortured the Wardens that Cauthrien began to have doubts. She began to wonder if the Teyrn's hatred of Orlais and the stresses of trying to keep the nation together were driving him beyond the breaking point. Hard questioning of prisoners was one thing, but condoning outright torture? Especially the torture of a woman, given what the Teyrn had once told her as they sat in his office late one night, strategizing; how could he have condoned such an act? After her escape from Fort Drakon, the Warden Commander's smooth tongue nearly made Cauthrien betray the Teyrn before the Landsmeet and for that, Cauthrien had looked upon the woman warily. The Warden Commander may have been right, but the feeling of nearly betraying the Teyrn had been a bitter pill to swallow. It was after Howe was killed and the Teyrn conscripted into the Grey Wardens that the man she admired and felt allegiance to began to show himself again. Coincidence? Cauthrien was normally not a believer in such things, but the fact that the Teyrn's demeanor had seemingly returned to normal after the Warden Commander killed Howe and his minions was almost too obvious to ignore.

With a derisive scoff, Cauthrien pushed the thoughts out of her mind. She could not afford to live in the past, wallowing in doubt and regret. The Teyrn was not only her commander, but her friend and mentor. He had obviously resolved his uncertainties with the Warden Commander; perhaps it was time to honor Teyrn Loghain's trust in the Warden Commander and do so herself.

Looking up, she saw the imposing fortress of Vigil's Keep ahead of them, growing larger with each passing moment. The thought of getting out of her soaking leathers and into a hot bath brought a small smile to the lieutenant's face.

* * *

"Cauthrien, welcome to Vigil's Keep."

Loghain stood as Cauthrien entered the small study off the main hall, holding a hand out to his trusted lieutenant as she crossed the room toward him. The Warden Commander stood at his side, offering her hand to Cauthrien as soon as Loghain was finished pumping her hand twice.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Cauthrien turned to Lhiannon, nodding solemnly. "Warden Commander; I'm glad to see you well."

"Thank you. I am fortunate to have such gifted people around me," Lhiannon stated. "Were it not for their gifts and talents, I would not be here. I am blessed to have such wonderful friends and allies."

Loghain motioned to a chair next to the small fireplace in the study, giving Cauthrien the warmest place in the room. He knew, from his many years camping in the wilderness both during the rebellion and as a general in the Ferelden army, that once a damp chill settles in the bones, it takes time for it to fully leave. Lhiannon had a carafe of tea waiting, offering a cup to Cauthrien as she settled in next to the fire. Cauthrien nodded her thanks, taking a sip of the liquid as Lhiannon and Loghain each settled in chairs also drawn near the fire.

"Cauthrien," Loghain began, "I summoned you to Vigil's Keep to discuss the future."

"Your Grace?"

"You know that the Warden Commander and I are to be married in just a few days. It is my intention to abdicate my title of Teyrn at that time. Even I cannot be in two places at once, Cauthrien." He paused for a moment, gesturing toward Lhiannon with a slight nod of his head. "My place is here."

Lhiannon saw that Cauthrien's face was set in stone, not betraying any sort of emotion as she sat silent for a brief moment, considering what Loghain had just revealed to her. _She learned that lesson well,_ Lhiannon thought to herself with a grin.

"If you abdicate, Your Grace, who will the King and Queen appoint as teyrn? Gwaren cannot be left without a leader, nor will the people accept a noble who knows nothing but ambition."

Loghain leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he pointed a long, calloused finger at his trusted lieutenant. "I have no intention of leaving Gwaren without a capable leader."

Cauthrien's face became nonplussed, her brows lowering and causing fine wrinkles to appear around her eyes. "But, Your Grace, you have no heir other than the Queen…her child is destined to be the heir to Calenhad's throne."

Loghain sat back in his chair, one forearm resting on the arm of the chair, the other pointing a knowing finger. "Cauthrien, I intend to name you steward of Gwaren until such time a Mac Tir heir is born, either from the Queen herself or, Maker willing, my wife. It has already been approved by the Crown; the only thing needed is the contract signed and witnessed."

"But, Your Grace," Cauthrien began, a look of confusion still on her features, "what about Thorne? He is your seneschal; surely he can administer the affairs of the teyrnir. Should he not be steward? I'm a soldier, Your Grace, not an administrator."

Loghain scoffed, slashing his hand through the air in emphasis. "Thorne is an adept administrator, but you and I both know he would not last a single day under the pressures of both the vassals and the Crown. I need someone I trust implicitly to care for the teyrnir while we await an heir; while I trust Thorne, I trust _you_ more." Loghain paused, his voice softening as he pointed at his lieutenant, the gesture meant to emphasize his point. "I was also a soldier when Maric elevated me to Teyrn. I knew nothing of leading men other than through war; you are not so different than I was. _You_, Cauthrien, are the only person I trust with such a precious burden as the people and teyrnir of Gwaren. _You_ are the only person I trust to keep Gwaren safe until an heir of my blood is ready to lead, be it my child or grandchild."

Silence descended upon the room as Loghain finished his argument. As Cauthrien considered his words, Lhiannon simply waited, her eyes moving between Loghain's expression of firm resolve and Cauthrien's one of contemplation. Cauthrien's gaze fell to the fire in the hearth, watching as the flames devoured the logs within as she took several sips of tea. After several moments, the contemplation fell from Cauthrien's face, replaced by a grim determination and even a slight smile.

Cauthrien looked to Lhiannon, seeking to gauge the Warden Commander's reaction, looking to see if she truly supported the Teyrn or was simply going along. "It is as he says, Cauthrien," Lhiannon began, nodding as she spoke. "You are the only one Loghain, and I, trust with such a burden. You will always have Amaranthine's unconditional support as steward of Gwaren."

Cauthrien's gaze moved from Lhiannon to Loghain, who raised one of his dark brows in something between curiosity and amusement. After a moment, a small smile crossed Cauthrien's face and she gave both Lhiannon and Loghain a solemn nod.

"I accept, Your Grace. Gwaren shall be well taken care of until your heir is ready to assume the teyrnir."

A knock on the door to the study sounded, drawing Lhiannon's attention. She rose from her chair and walked to the door, curious as to who may be on the other side. Opening the door, she found the Teyrn of Highever standing on the other side, looking down on her with a look of mild amusement on his face. "Surprise."

"Teyrn Cousland!"

Fergus gave her a smirk. "Come now, Warden Commander, don't look so surprised; you knew that I was coming to Vigil's Keep for your wedding and to tour Amaranthine."

Moving to the side to allow Fergus entrance, Lhiannon's whirling brain finally set itself to rights. "I know, Your Grace, but I didn't expect you so soon. Your missive said you would not be arriving until the day of the wedding. And I'm surprised that Varel didn't announce you."

"Your seneschal tried to and I had to all but order him to let me surprise you. Besides, it's a Teyrn's prerogative to change his mind," Fergus exclaimed, moving into the room and greeting Cauthrien and Loghain, both of whom stood to welcome the young Teyrn. "In truth, the cleanup efforts in Highever have progressed quicker than I had hoped and freed me to come to Amaranthine a few days earlier than I had planned. I wish to see the rebuilding efforts in Amaranthine itself before I return to Highever." His attention returned to Loghain; Lhiannon saw Fergus' expression become more neutral, his eyes almost cold. "I also wanted the opportunity to speak with Teyrn Loghain, since he will become my vassal upon your marriage."

Loghain took a step toward the young Teyrn, eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded him. "What is it you wish to speak to me about?"

"Do you not wish to speak privately? Perhaps what I have to say to you should not be said in front of others, especially ladies."

Loghain raised a brow, a look of what Lhiannon thought of as curious amusement on his face. "There is nothing you will say to me that I will not inform the Commander of later if it has bearing on the arling or the Grey Wardens," Loghain began, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "And if you wish to speak of my upcoming wedding and vassalage to you, then Ser Cauthrien will hear of it as well, as it will have a direct impact on her."

Fergus spent a moment looking at Loghain closely, apparently considering his options. He then nodded curtly at Loghain. "As you wish then." He turned and took a few steps within the room, arms crossed over his chest as he paced. He then quickly turned and looked at Loghain with hard eyes. "Let me be clear on this: I _do not _trust you. Period. When you do become my vassal, _Teyrn_ Loghain, will you be entertaining notions of bringing Highever under your command? The thought of ruling two entire teyrnirs must be very tempting for you. Your man Howe left Highever weakened but if you are entertaining notions of consolidation, let me strongly advise you against it. My army may yet be small, but they are determined to protect the teyrnir."

"Now, just a minute, Your Grace," Lhiannon began, indignation in her voice as she took a step toward where the young teyrn stood. Never taking his eyes of Fergus, Loghain held up a hand, stopping her protest and movement before she could act further. Satisfied when Lhiannon stopped and held her tongue, Loghain lowered his hand.

"Cousland, I have no ambitions toward conquest. When I take the title of Arl of Amaranthine, it will be to support the Warden Commander and Arlessa as an equal; nothing more." Loghain then gestured toward Cauthrien, who watched the interaction between the teyrns warily. "You were to be informed when the King and Queen arrive, but it appears your fears and suspicions must be put to rest now. I will abdicate my title of Teyrn of Gwaren upon my marriage, appointing Ser Cauthrien steward until an heir is ready to inherit the title and lands."

Fergus looked at Loghain suspiciously, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. "You will abdicate your title?"

"Is there an echo in here? I believe that is what I said."

Fergus ignored Loghain's barb and turned to Lhiannon. "And your thoughts on this?"

Lhiannon shrugged. "I have no say over what the Teyrn does with his teyrnir. The only command I have over him is regarding Grey Warden matters."

"And when he becomes Arl?"

"We administer the arling of Amaranthine as equals, just as he said. If the matter in question spans both the Grey Wardens and Amaranthine, my word is final." She kept her gaze firmly locked on Fergus. "Most of your dealings will likely be through me, but you and Loghain will also work together on some matters, I'm sure. You _both _will need to find a way to work together."

Fergus once more looked between Lhiannon and Loghain, scrutinizing them both carefully. After a moment, he shrugged and scoffed before turning to Loghain once more. "Well, at least with you as _my_ vassal, I can keep a close, personal eye on you to make sure you harbor no such thoughts of ambition." Fergus' eyes narrowed and Lhiannon thought she also saw a degree of mirth in his gaze. The thought of being Loghain's lord and liege was apparently amusing to Fergus; Loghain was merely stoic and stone-faced.

"And I promise you, I _will_ keep an eye on you."

* * *

Nathaniel had been charged with taking Cauthrien and Fergus on a tour of the city of Amaranthine while the Grey Wardens awaited the arrival of the King and Queen of Ferelden. A messaging bird had arrived that morning, informing Lhiannon that the King and Queen, along with their retinue, were already on the road for Amaranthine. They would arrive at Vigil's Keep within days, not long after Nathaniel, Fergus, and Cauthrien returned from their tour of Amaranthine. Soon after everyone arrived, the celebration of their wedding would take place. Lhiannon felt butterflies beginning to flutter in her stomach as she reread the message, the excitement and reality of her wedding growing as all the pieces fell into place.

She sat at her desk, feeling a little strange as she looked about the room. She had temporarily moved from their quarters to sleep in one of the guest rooms until the wedding. It was a disconcerting feeling, sleeping alone after having shared a bed with Loghain for so long. The longing for him was beginning to build in her blood like a persistent fever; she hoped she had enough resolve to keep from pouncing on him like a great cat before their wedding night. That would, after all, ruin the anticipation of said night.

She had summoned Loghain to her office as soon as the message arrived from Denerim via messaging bird. While they were here, she thought, they may as well prepare for Marjolaine's last interrogation and execution, as well as compose their reply to the Second Warden of Weisshaupt. She wanted that particular task behind her before the wedding and their sojourns away from Vigil's Keep. If they sent no response, the next one would only be more insistent. Her retinue would likely be away from Vigil's Keep for a number of weeks; that was far too long to wait before sending a response to Orlais. That was a task she wanted to handle herself rather than delegate it to Varel, who had offered to take the task on several occasions. The letter from the Second Warden had left her uneasy, with one line in particular sounding very ominous to her ears: _The outcome of that battle was extraordinary and we are most curious to hear about it._

Lhiannon hated that that single line in the missive drove her mind back to that night in Redcliffe over and over again. Ever since the damned letter from Orlais arrived, the memories of that night refused to stay still, playing through her mind over and over again. She had not ordered Loghain to do what he did; it was an order she simply could not give. That was the night her whole world shifted on its axis; the night she realized she was falling in love with Loghain. That realization and a real chance for a future after the Blight were the only positive things to come from the events of that night. In that light, she was grateful to Morrigan beyond measure.

After the letter had arrived, Lhiannon felt the need to pour through what Grey Warden records she had at Vigil's Keep. Several large tomes sat on her desk; large books bound in old leather with yellowed pages inside, the paper nearly brittle with age. They and a number of others had originally resided in the Grey Warden compound in Denerim before Loghain confiscated them after the disaster at Ostagar. Thankfully, he had not destroyed the tomes after removing them from the compound. Lhiannon snorted to herself. _Of course he wouldn't destroy them, no matter how much he distrusted the Wardens. He would have waited until he perused them before destroying them, likely looking for any information he could use to his advantage._ He had brought them and the other items he confiscated to Vigil's Keep after the Battle of Denerim, expanding the library that was already in the Vigil to almost double in size. She had picked several promising tomes out of the library and poured over them in recent days as she sat in her temporary accommodations, researching. She picked up the book at the top of the pile, finding the scrap of paper she put in as a bookmark and began reading again.

Something had to have been written about...it. Their situation could not be unique. There had been dozens, if not hundreds, of Wardens present at the deaths of the last four archdemons. Surely, one of them had been a woman; surely, one of them had been with child. Or a Warden could have impregnated an untainted woman, much like...

A small paragraph caught her attention as she flipped a page. The book she was leafing through had stories, reports, and speculations surrounding the old god, Toth, and the Third Blight that ended in 3:25 Towers. That particular Blight raged across Tevinter and Orlais, besieging and laying waste to a number of cities. The armies of Tevinter and Orlais had managed to unite under the banner of the Grey Wardens to defeat Toth and his horde at Hunter Fell in one of the most destructive conflicts ever fought against the darkspawn. Even though both nations shared in the victory, the alliance between Orlais and Tevinter did not last long after that final battle.

What caught Lhiannon's attention was a small paragraph written about the Nevarran Grey Warden who killed the archdemon Toth, dated the day after the dragon's destruction. The darkspawn had begun to flee, it said, harried by the armies of Orlais and Tevinter. Most of the surviving Grey Wardens were assisting the armies in driving the darkspawn back to ground. As she continued to read, a paragraph nearly leaped off the page at her.

_We leave on the morrow to take Henrik to Weisshaupt, so that he may be buried as a hero, as the vanquisher of the archdemon and savior of Thedas. Our efforts to save him were naught; we never had the chance to converse with our brother, for he never regained lucidity after dealing the death blow. His wounds were beyond the talents of our best healers; they tried to heal his body of delirium and injury for hours. __Warden Duram wished to find Henrik's blade so that he could be buried wit__h it, but the battlefield lies covered with such filth and slaughter that the blade was impossible to find…_

* * *

Loghain walked through the halls of the Vigil, moving toward the chambers where Lhiannon was waiting for him. She was preparing to pen a reply to the Orlesian Grey Wardens and wanted him at her side as she prepared it. His opinion, which he had made clear on several occasions since the letter arrived, was that the Orlesians could wait until the second coming of Andraste herself. He was of the belief that they should not give them any sort of information at all; he knew in his gut that anything could be used against them, Grey Warden or not. They may be 'brothers and sisters' in the taint, but they were Orlesian first and foremost and to deny that was foolish. He knew how Orlesians thought, sometimes better than they themselves did; more than once it had saved him from falling into Orlesian hands during the rebellion. He snorted lightly as he climbed the last flight of stairs leading to Lhiannon's office and their quarters.

The sound of approaching footsteps brought Lhiannon from her concentration on the tome in front of her. After a moment listening to the familiar gait, Loghain appeared in the doorway, closing the door behind him as he entered. Loghain approached Lhiannon's desk, preparing to take a seat across from her; he stopped when she waved him closer. He could see a piece of parchment near the book in front of her, her precise yet girlish scrawl covering part of the page. It was a letter; when he saw the opening salutation, he reached forward and plucked the parchment off her desk, quickly scanning it as he moved to a chair and sat down.

_To the Second Warden of Weisshaupt, brother among the Grey Wardens: greetings. I and the Grey Wardens of Ferelden thank you for your congratulations. Defeating the archdemon and its darkspawn was our sacred duty and honor._

_I and the Ferelden Grey are currently in the process of preparing to seal the breach from which the archdemon emerged onto the surface of Ferelden. This expedition will be leaving Vigil's Keep within day. This matter, as well as several others requiring the Grey Wardens, must be set to rights before a trip outside Ferelden can be considered. The safety and well-being of Ferelden and its people are my most pressing priorities, you understand._

"Loghain, look at this."

Reaching across the desk Loghain took the tome from Lhiannon's outstretched hand, watching as the color seemed to drain from her face. Whatever it was she had found, she found it disconcerting, that much was clear. Loghain found his that own stomach begin to drop. As he took the book, he watched as Lhiannon reached for a large carafe that sat on the desk opposite the tomes. She reached for it, pouring the liquid inside—ale—into a nearby tankard and took a hearty swallow. It was early, but she knew she needed to take the edge off her nerves, especially for this task and for the entry she just read. _Well, Oghren always says it's midday somewhere. _She had to be careful with the ale; she wanted her nerves calmed, not her wits dulled from having too much.

Lhiannon watched as Loghain took the book, spending several minutes studying the pages she had opened for him. His face was unreadable, his chiseled features set in stone. Her eyes moved off Loghain and toward the map on the wall, looking at it yet staring at nothing in particular.

After several moments, Loghain's brow furrowed and he raised his head, looking toward the tankard Lhiannon held in her hand, her knuckles white with the strength of her grip. He watched as she starred off into the distance, worry lines crossing her face. Loghain continued to watch her, a mixture of concern and irritation on his face at the anxiousness roiling through the taint between them. "I was going to suggest that it was early for ale, but considering the subject matter, perhaps I'll join you in a glass." He reached for the carafe, pouring the liquid into a tankard of his own and taking a mouthful of the cool liquid.

"They're going to ask, you know."

Loghain looked up from the tankard of ale in his hand as Lhiannon spoke, her voice almost too low to be heard. The worry lines on her face seemed to deepen, something Loghain had not thought possible. Her face had gone pale and Loghain could see the hand holding her tankard shaking slightly, some of the liquid inside sloshing out. Loghain put his own tankard down on her desk, coming around to the side where Lhiannon sat. He moved her chair so that she faced him and he reached down, plucking the tankard out of her hand and setting it on her desk before returning his attention to her.

"Why aren't you dead?" she said, looking out past him into the room beyond. "How do you yet live? What sort of blood magic have you used to save your life? _How did you cheat death?_" She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, fighting the growing lump in her throat. "Do you regret..." she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

She opened her eyes when she felt Loghain's thumb gently pressing on her lips as his hand cradled her face. "I am not a man who dwells on regret or indulges in 'what-ifs'. But the answer to your question is 'no'."

Lhiannon nodded, opening her eyes to see Loghain looking down at her, his expression hard, yet his eyes soft. She raised her hand to cover his, tilting her head into his touch. He took her hand, holding it in his for a moment before squeezing it gently. "It is clear, based on the passage I just read, that something similar has happened before. The Wardens still keep their secrets, across the centuries of time."

"But what happens to the soul when it travels into a new life? What happens when the taint is destroyed, leaving the soul behind? Morrigan knows something but she's gone..."

Loghain shook his head slowly. "I know not, Lhiannon, but perhaps there are others that do."

Lhiannon narrowed her eyes in questioning, bringing them to meet Loghain's "Avernus?"

"From what you have told me, Avernus has been a Grey Warden for a long time, studying them and the effects of the taint. If anyone knows more about Morrigan's ritual, he may. He is a blood mage who has studied blood and the taint for years, correct?"

"Yes. But if he doesn't know anything, what should we tell Weisshaupt? They will certainly ask."

Loghain released her hand, his posture becoming businesslike once more. He took several steps away from Lhiannon's desk, his arms crossed over his chest as he thought. "Let us explore this then." He turned and looked at Lhiannon, a brow raised as he did so in what looked like mild amusement. "You likely won't care for some of the explorations."

"At this point, I'm open to suggestions."

"Let us assume that they know something far more enticing drew the soul of the old god away from you and into something else. Let us further assume that they know that something is an unborn child. They will first question whether _you_ were with child at the time the archdemon was slain."

"And it's fairly clear that I was not," Lhiannon said, shrugging her shoulders. "Everyone here would have seen if I were with child; Andraste's tits the child would be several months old by now had I bore one. But what if they ask that? Or ask if I lost a child?"

"If you lost a child, then they have nothing to fear. The soul likely would have died with the child; at least, that is my supposition."

Lhiannon took a deep breath, rubbing her forehead with her hand and closing her eyes against the headache building inside. "That is a thought. What else?"

"If you were not the one with child, the Wardens will then seek to discover other women closest to the archdemon when it was killed. Wynne, thank the Maker, is too old to bear a child. They will find out that Morrigan was there and may assume it was her; if they know she is an apostate, they may further assume she could have used magic to conceive a child."

"And when they ask who her partner was? Do we say it was you?"

Loghain gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "We could always say it was Riordan."

Lhiannon felt her nose wrinkle in distaste; it felt wrong to even suggest Riordan was involved in such a scheme. As she watched, Loghain turned to her with a brow raised; he had clearly sensed her aversion to that particular idea through the taint. "I remember saying you likely would not care for some of the ideas."

The grimace fell from Lhiannon's face, but the sense of uneasiness remained. "I can see why you suggested it; Riordan is dead and can neither confirm nor deny his involvement. But he was a Warden a long time; not far from his Calling. He would have had difficulty siring a child, no matter how powerful Morrigan's magic was. It feels wrong to besmirch his memory that way," Lhiannon said, picking up her tankard and draining the last of the ale within before refilling it. She motioned to Loghain's tankard and he nodded; Lhiannon filled his tankard with more of the amber ale. Taking another sip of ale, Lhiannon resumed her thought. "That particular story would require Morrigan's cooperation. However, she did say she would never reveal the name of the father."

"And you believe her?"

With a sigh, Lhiannon took another sip of ale, her eyes falling to the floor as she thought. "I honestly don't know, Loghain. Morrigan and I did become friendly with each other after a time, but I can't see her protecting us if such protection goes contrary to her plans. She'll keep quiet if it suits her purposes."

"Well, I can always hope that she lies dead in the wilderness somewhere, picked over by beasts."

Lhiannon scoffed, shaking her head as she did so. "Morrigan? I doubt it. She was raised by Flemeth in the Wilds; she knows how to survive."

Loghain scowled, turning to face Lhiannon with a finger in the air for emphasis. "Flemeth; just what was she planning for Morrigan, other than usurping her body and claiming the soul of the old god for herself? It is a good thing we rid Ferelden of her meddling."

"We can only hope she's truly dead, Loghain," Lhiannon said, an involuntary shiver running down her spine. "I would hate to think of Flemeth somehow cheating death." She paused for a moment, lightly fingering the tankard of ale that sat on her desk as she watched Loghain pace back and forth in her office. With a heavy sigh, she lifted the tankard to her lips and took another sip.

"We could tell them the truth, Loghain. It isn't like they won't be able to narrow it down to you, Riordan, or Alistair based on timing." She paused a moment, her hand gripping the tankard tightly once again. "What if..."

"Or perhaps we can tell them _nothing_," Loghain growled as he whirled about to face her, hand slashing through the air in emphasis. "We can keep our own secrets and council." Loghain turned toward the desk, picking up his tankard and taking a large draw from it. As he roughly set his tankard back on the desk, he pointed to the letter that Lhiannon was penning. "The less the Orlesians—the Wardens and otherwise—know about the end of the Blight, the better. All they need to know is that the archdemon met death at the hands of the Grey Wardens and that the darkspawn are fleeing back to the Deep Roads. _That _is all they need to know; they need know nothing of Ferelden's internal issues or anything else."

"I don't plan on telling them anything other than what is necessary to pacify them for now," Lhiannon agreed. "In that regard, your advice is sound. The less they know of the political and Chantry issues and infighting in Ferelden, the better." Lhiannon rubbed her forehead, sending a gentle pulse of magic through her fingers to ease the throbbing behind her eyes. "But what about the Architect? What is your opinion on that? His creature, the Withered, was the one that brought the darkspawn to Vigil's Keep when the Orlesian Wardens were here."

Lhiannon watched as Loghain pondered the thought for a moment. "Perhaps all they need to know at this point is that the darkspawn attacked the Vigil from both the old tunnels beneath the fortress and over land; that the walls of the Vigil have been repaired and the entrance to the Deep Roads sealed."

"I agree. But do we mention that the Architect and the Mother were behind the attacks? That though the Mother is dead, the Architect still lives? After all, the Wardens know he exists."

"But if we mention that the Architect still lives, they may want to send 'help' again. I do not wish their 'help' in Ferelden."

"Nor I, not if we can avoid it," Lhiannon agreed, turning back to her desk and the half written letter before her. "I'll mention that we found the source of the darkspawn that invaded Vigil's Keep and overran the Orlesian Wardens; that we eradicated those that were left and sealed off the entrance to the surface that they used to attack the Wardens, as well as a briefing on the repairs to the exterior of the Vigil."

Loghain moved toward his chair once more, draining the last of his ale before sitting down and indicating the letter on the desk. "Then let us get this response finished and into the hands of the courier for Orzammar."

* * *

_Lhiannon and Loghain don't know about Flemeth's little trick...you know, the one she pulled with Hawke on Sundermount? Oh boy. I always thought Flemeth was more than she appears to be. Thanks to Tyanilth, Shakespira, and Gene Dark for their thoughts and ideas on Flemeth and the old gods. As you can see, I'm hypothesizing __ab__out the secrets the Grey Wardens hold; we know that they love secrets and I can see them holding some big ones._

_ The next chapter he__ralds the arrival of the King and Queen of Ferelden. L&L may walk down that aisle yet! ;)_

_Extra special thanks and kudos to reviewers Gene Dark, cloud1004, sleepyowlet, Aura, Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, Arsinoe, Dark Chubb, Enaid, icey, Tyanilth, and naomis8329. I'm very grateful for all your support; I couldn't have made it this far without you!_

_Thanks as well to all of you who take a few minutes out of your day to read Lhiannon and Loghain's tale. Feel free to PM me; I'd love to hear from you!  
_


	26. Of Kings and Queens

Varel stood at the doorway of the main audience hall, his formal voice ringing out clearly and to all corners of the room as he spoke.

"Warden Commander; their Royal Majesties, the King and Queen of Ferelden."

Lhiannon watched as Varel stepped out of the doorway to allow Alistair and Anora to enter the main audience hall of Vigil's Keep. Word had come in the form of a scout not long before that the arrival of the King and Queen would be imminent. Lhiannon watched from the window of her office as the large retinue of the Crown arrived, a grand carriage carrying the King and Queen surrounded by several dozen soldiers and a number of supply carts. Thankfully, Alistair and Anora had sent word before they left Denerim that they would be bringing a large contingent of soldiers with them; room was made in the barracks of the Vigil to house them for the duration of their stay. Quarters within the barracks would be tight while the King and Queen were at Vigil's Keep, but there was just enough room for everyone.

Lhiannon stood at the head of the hall near her chair of command dressed in a fine gown of deep green with gold trim, Loghain at her side as Second Warden of Ferelden in a fine grey tunic and trousers, his black boots buffed to a high shine. The other Ferelden Grey Wardens present—Nathaniel, Anders, Oghren, Cris, and Jowan—all stood at attention along one wall, dressed in their formal clothing or robes. Fergus and Cauthrien also stood nearby, he in a fine doublet and trousers and she in a fine, if plain, gown.

Lhiannon felt the love and pride swell within Loghain as Anora entered the hall on Alistair's arm, her advanced pregnancy clearly showing even through her riding cloak. They approached the head of the hall, walking a little slower than normal so as not to tire or rush Anora needlessly. Varel followed closely behind the King and Queen, offering to take the Queen's cloak, which she eagerly parted with.

As Lhiannon dipped down into a courtesy for the approaching sovereigns, the King reached out and grabbed her by the upper arms, pulling her upright and into a fierce hug as his Queen stood at his side. Alistair's arms wrapped around Lhiannon so tightly that she thought she could hear her ribs groaning in protest as her breath was forced from her lungs. After crushing her in his arms, Alistair held her out at arm's length, looking her up and down with a worried expression on his face.

"Lhi, are you all right?" Alistair began, the worry evident in his voice and on the planes of his face. "I mean _really_ all right? When I heard about what had happened to you, I had feared the worst. I wanted to come right away, but I couldn't leave Denerim…"

Lhiannon leaned forward and placed a kiss on Alistair's cheek, cupping the other cheek with a gentle hand. She smiled as she pulled away, seeking to reassure the King that she was, indeed, all right. "Your Majesty…"

A look of abject horror crossed the King's young face. "Maker's breath, Lhi! You don't need to call me 'Your Majesty'! Hearing you say that seems so...wrong. Ugh, you're such a terrible tease!"

Lhiannon laughed at the look of horror on Alistair's face, bringing a hand up to her mouth in an attempt to cover her giggles. "Alistair," she amended, smiling brightly at him. "I'm fine. Really. My people took very good care of me."

"And the man that attacked you; I understand that he has been executed?"

Lhiannon nodded, stepping back to stand beside Loghain once more. "Yes, Alistair. He was put on trial and executed for his crimes against me, the arling, and Ferelden." She paused a moment, tilting her head toward Loghain beside her. "Loghain carried out the execution himself; he and Varel believed having me execute him would have made him a martyr to those of like mind."

"I can understand the caution. You most certainly had the Grand Cleric up in arms after her visit here," Anora added, her hands unconsciously moving to her protruding stomach to cradle it. Lhiannon performed a quick calculation in her head; Calenhad's heir would be born in just a matter of weeks, likely not long after they returned to Denerim. "She came to the palace demanding an audience the second she arrived back in Denerim," Anora continued, "ranting about 'that mage' in Amaranthine and asking me how I could appoint 'that mage' as Arlessa against the teachings of Andraste and the Maker."

"What did you tell her?" Loghain asked, scowling at the thought of the Grand Cleric seeking an immediate audience with the Crown, as if she were entitled to such a meeting whenever she wished; as if _she_ were the sovereign and not the other way around. The news that the meddling hag had gone directly to the palace to plead her case did not surprise Loghain in the least.

Anora snorted derisively; Lhiannon had to suppress a small chuckle at the sound. Anora's scoffing sounded eerily similar to her father's. "I told the Grand Cleric that Lhiannon deserved the honor after defeating the archdemon and that the Grey Wardens needed a base of operations in Ferelden. Amaranthine was the perfect solution and I was well within my rights as Queen to appoint her so."

"The Grand Cleric was also looking for any reason for me to deny your marriage," Alistair said, gesturing lightly with his hands. "I told her that Ferelden was not a theocracy and that while we held the teachings of Andraste and the Maker close to heart, they were not the rule of the land. As long as the documents drawn up were legal under Ferelden law, I would be bound by the same law to approve them."

"She then came back and retorted that Alistair was the King," Anora explained, bringing a haughtiness to her voice that Lhiannon found reminiscent of how the Grand Cleric sounded. "And that as King he could reject the contracts in Andraste's name, since the laws of the Maker supersede the laws of any king or queen."

"So, the Grand Cleric is advocating circumventing the law?" Loghain sneered. "That so long as the circumvention is what the Chantry wants, that it is fine to just ignore or throw out the laws of Ferelden at it suits them? Typical."

Alistair shrugged, a boyish smirk crossing his features. "Well, I didn't say it quite that way, but the thought did cross my mind." He turned toward where Fergus and Cauthrien stood nearby, greeting both with a warm smile and handshake, Anora at his side. When he finished, Lhiannon led him and Anora over to where the Grey Wardens stood.

"Alistair, here are the Grey Wardens currently present at Vigil's Keep; several others are currently out on missions."

"Oh?" Alistair asked, his eyes falling over the gathered Wardens. "Who is missing?"

"Wardens Sigrun and Raelyn are currently attached to Teagan Guerein's retinue as he travels the Bannorn before the Landsmeet. Warden Anwen is with the Dalish in the Brecilian Forest, protecting the elves from darkspawn near the archdemon Urthemiel's breach. Warden Leliana and Zevran are currently on a mission to Orlais."

"Orlais?" Anora asked, her voice cool and controlled.

"I shall brief you and the King later," Lhiannon explained, motioning toward the Wardens once more. "For now, these are the Wardens that remain. Nathaniel Howe, Anders, Jowan, Oghren—you remember him I'm sure—and…"

"Cris?" Alistair asked, carefully eyeing the newest Grey Warden present. "Cris Darkpath? Holy Maker, I never thought I'd see you here!" The King extended his hand, a large smile on his face. Cris returned the smile, grasping Alistair's hand in both of his own and shaking it vigorously.

"I didn't think you would remember or recognize me," Cris replied, releasing Alistair's hand and stepping back in place.

Alistair's resonant laugh echoed through the audience hall. "Not recognize you? Never."

"Alistair," Anora began, her voice containing both a question and an edge. Her eyes moved between her husband and the Warden before her. "Perhaps introductions are in order?"

"Oh, yes, well..." Alistair turned to face the confused looks of his wife, the Warden Commander and Second Warden, as well as the Vigil's Seneschal. "I've known Cris since I was a small boy in Redcliffe; before the former Arlessa had me shipped off to the Chantry."

"I was recently attached to Teagan's retinue when I first met Alis...I mean the King," Cris began, his eye turning toward the others in the room, who watched the proceedings with curiosity. "I saw this boy in the stables whenever we visited Redcliffe—never anywhere else—who bore a striking resemblance to King Maric and Prince Cailan. I finally asked Teagan about it and he told me about Alistair. I felt bad for him; the Arlessa rarely spoke a kind word about or to him, relegating him to the stables like a servant."

"What a shock; Isolde acting the insecure bitch," Lhiannon snickered under her breath toward Loghain, who snorted softly. How the woman felt threatened by a mere boy Lhiannon could never understand. Did the thought ever occur to her to just _ask_ Eamon about Alistair's parentage? Lhiannon could not understand how Isolde missed the fact that Alistair did indeed bear a striking resemblance to Cailan.

Alistair gestured toward Cris, one hand settling on the small of Anora's back while gesturing with the other. "Cris tried to teach me to use a bow," he explained, a sheepish grin crossing his face.

"It was clear very early on that the bow was not kind to Alistair."

"That's certainly a diplomatic way of putting it," Alistair scoffed, chuckling lightly. "The fact of the matter is, I was terrible with the bow. I just couldn't wrap my brain around the weapon."

Lhiannon held up a hand, grinning at the exchange between them. "Well, there will be time for the two of you to catch up later. Wardens, you are dismissed." Lhiannon turned toward Varel, who stood just behind them as the other Wardens began to file out of the audience hall. "We have paperwork to sign, correct, Varel?"

"Indeed, Commander," Varel agreed, motioning toward the door of the audience hall with his hand. "If you'll follow me…"

"Lead on, Varel."

* * *

Lhiannon's anticipation built as their small entourage walked through the walls of the Vigil toward Varel's office, Varel in front followed by Alistair and Anora. Fergus and Cauthrien also followed in single file, quiet except for the click of boots and rustle of fabric. Lhiannon and Loghain followed last. Butterflies fluttered in Lhiannon's stomach and her hands shook slightly in both excitement and nervousness. As she focused on her twitching stomach, she felt Loghain's hand settle on the small of her back, his calming presence seemingly chasing the butterflies away. She turned and looked up into his blue eyes; he looked at her with a degree of amusement, a dark brow lifting toward his hairline as they walked. She gave him a small smile, her own arm settling itself on his trim waist as they walked.

They reached the door leading to Varel's office, the Seneschal opening the door and stepping aside to allow those behind him to enter. As Lhiannon entered and Varel closed the door behind them, she looked to his desk and saw several documents lying in neat piles on his desk. Stepping closer to his desk, she realized what they were: the marriage contracts between Lhiannon and Loghain as well as the succession plans for Gwaren. Lhiannon felt the corner of her mouth tick upward slightly. Their union was even more real and tangible now. _Damn the Chantry; they can rot._

Six copies of each document sat on Varel's desk; Lhiannon wondered just how long it took Varel and Aura to pen all those documents. The neat piles were waiting for the signatures, seals, and witnessing of each person gathered in the room. Copies of the documents were to be filed in the archives in Amaranthine, Denerim, Highever, and Gwaren, with personal copies for Lhiannon and Loghain as well as Alistair and Anora. Varel led the way to his desk, picking up the quill from his ink set and holding it out; Lhiannon and Loghain to come forward to set their signatures to the documents.

"Well," Loghain said as he took the offered quill from Varel, turning and favoring Lhiannon with a small smirk as he held the quill out to her. "If you wish to reconsider, this is your last chance."

Lhiannon grinned, giving a wink to Varel before favoring Loghain with a grin. "I think I'll keep you around. You're pretty good with a sword in a fight."

"I'm glad I'm of use to you."

Taking the proffered quill from Loghain's hand, Lhiannon set her signature to the contracts on Varel's desk. When she finished, she turned and offered the quill back to Loghain, a large grin on her face. "Your turn, unless _you_ wish to reconsider."

"Perhaps I'll keep _you_ around," he smirked. "Your magic is useful every now and then."

A smirk pulled one of the corners of Lhiannon's mouth upward, a look of mirth in her eyes. "Every now and then?"

"Your healing magic leaves much to be desired, but perhaps I can overlook it."

Varel reached out and took the quill from Loghain as they stepped back from the desk. He beckoned the King and Queen forward, offering the quill first to the King. Alistair began to set his careful signature on the documents. When he finished, he turned the quill over to Anora, who added her hers. Anora and Alistair then stepped back, allowing Varel and Fergus to add their signatures as witnesses.

Cauthrien stepped forward from where she stood near the doorway. If she was nervous, Lhiannon could detect nothing betraying such on her face. She was truly Loghain's creation as a solder; it was clear that she honed her own calm, cool demeanor under Loghain's tutelage. She set her signature to the Gwaren documents, her handwriting surprisingly girlish despite her cool demeanor. When she finished she turned to find Loghain's hand outstretched to her; she shook his hand, pumping his hand it three times before releasing it.

"Gwaren is in your care now, Cauthrien, Steward of the Teyrnir of Gwaren," Loghain said, tipping his head to her. "I have every confidence that you will guide the teyrnir until an heir is ready to take their place."

"I am honored by your confidence in me."

Replacing the quill into its sheath, Varel turned toward both Lhiannon and Loghain. "All that is needed now is your public declaration," he grinned. "Now that all of the documents are signed and witnessed, they shall be secured in the vault here until we all part ways."

The entourage returned to the audience hall, watching as the servants hung brightly colored banners on the support beams and brought in tables to serve the wedding banquet on. Alistair clapped his hands together once, his gaze moving between Lhiannon and Loghain as they entered the hall. "So, where do you need me to stand as I speak at your wedding," Alistair asked, a grin spreading across his face as he looked about, observing the preparations. "Up there at the head of the hall, near your chairs?"

Lhiannon and Loghain shared a quick glance before turning back toward the King. Lhiannon saw that Anora caught their quick glance; her eyes narrowing slightly as her brows fell. Lhiannon breathed a small sigh and turned her attention to Alistair.

"Alistair, I don't think you should be the one to officiate."

Lhiannon felt her heart sink as the grin fell from Alistair's face, the hurt obviously clear in his expression. He opened his mouth to speak but Lhiannon held up a gentle hand. "Let me explain. I would love nothing more than to have you speak the words that marry Loghain and me, but I don't want to see the Chantry coming down on you any more than they already have."

"Let me worry about the Chantry, Lhi," Alistair protested, slashing his hand through the air. "I can handle them."

Loghain shook his head. "No. Don't be a fool. The Chantry is looking for any excuse to besmirch Lhiannon and will not hesitate to move beyond her to those that are closely associated with her. Until such matters are resolved, you must not put yourself in the line of fire."

"Alistair, my father and Lhiannon a point." Anora brushed her hand against Alistair's arm, bringing his attention to her. "The Chantry will likely be unhappy that we are here at all, but even they cannot besmirch the support of a daughter for her father. We cannot give the Chantry ammunition to use against us; Ferelden needs stable leadership, especially now."

"I don't want to see you caught up in the fight between me and the Chantry, Alistair," Lhiannon stated, coming forward to take one of his hands in hers. She hoped her plea reached him. "Anora is right; they will be irritated enough with you just being here; I can't watch them try to slander you and Anora for openly endorsing what they see as my unsanctioned marriage by performing the ceremony yourself."

"But Anora and I have signed the marriage contracts," Alistair protested, "that alone will be considered an endorsement."

"That is true, and the Chantry will be unhappy that you did not void them as you have the power to do," Loghain agreed. "However, as you said before, the Chantry is not the supreme law of Ferelden and you _were_ following the law."

"Your Majesty, allow me to perform the ceremony," Varel suggested, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and his face the picture of calm. "The Chantry is annoyed enough with Amaranthine and those charged with its welfare; they will not be surprised to hear I went against the Grand Cleric's wishes and married the Commander and Second."

Doubt still lingered on Alistair's face; Lhiannon resumed her attempt at persuading Alistair to see reason. "You may be Calenhad's heir, with your own heir on the way, but I can see the Chantry trying to convince the banns in the Bannorn to unite against you and put another candidate for the throne up to the Landsmeet; a candidate that the Chantry can possibly manipulate and bend to their will. You must be cautious."

"The Chantry would seek to end the line of Calenhad? Just like that?" Alistair's eyes flicked briefly to Loghain before returning to Lhiannon. She could almost hear his question through the taint. _Isn't that just a little paranoid? Is that Loghain speaking through you? _Silence fell upon those gathered in the hall, so quiet that the gentle breeze outside could be heard brushing up against the stone walls.

"Alistair," Anora began, breaking the heavy silence that descended between them, "you know the Grand Cleric is just begging for a reason to return to the palace and demand that you strip Lhiannon of her titles and banish her back to Kinloch Hold. Again. She demands it of you because she thinks your templar training makes your more receptive; she sees me as my father's daughter and therefore stubborn and unmovable."

With an exasperated, yet resigned sigh, Alistair relented. "Very well, Lhi. If the Chantry concerns you that much, I'll let Varel perform the ceremony." His boyish grin spread across his face. "But I will demand a front row seat."

Lhiannon grinned. "I don't see a problem with that."

Loghain asked to take his leave from the group in the audience hall, wishing to speak with his daughter alone for a bit. They rarely had opportunities to speak candidly and alone, and Loghain sought to take advantage of the opportunity to speak with Anora before duty demanded their attention again.

As Fergus and Cauthrien began to brief Lhiannon, Varel, and Alistair on their trip to Amaranthine, Loghain led Anora through the halls of the Vigil to the nearby study, not wishing to tire Anora needlessly by making her walk to his office on an upper floor. He called out for a servant to bring tea and pastries, lighting a fire in the small fireplace as Anora slowly settled herself into a nearby chair, sighing in relief as she sat.

"You are sure about this? About the succession plans for Gwaren?" Anora asked, her hands absentmindedly caressing her protruding stomach. The baby was becoming more active, its kicks stronger with each passing day.

"I am," Loghain insisted, the confidence in his voice assuring Anora that her father was indeed sure of his decision. "The chances of Lhiannon bearing a child from our union are very small." Loghain held Anora's glacial eyes with his own, tapping a finger on the top of the table in emphasis. "I will not see Gwaren fall to political maneuvering and chaos. Gwaren belongs to _our_ line, Anora, and I will see it remain there. It will likely be your second child that inherits Gwaren."

Anora raised a brow to her father; Loghain knew his own expression of curiosity was very much like that. "And if you and Lhiannon do have a child before our second is born, your child will inherit."

"That is correct."

A female servant entered carrying a tray, a large carafe of fragrant herbed tea balanced on the surface surrounded by a number of sweet pastries. Loghain and Anora fell silent as the servant placed the tray on a small table between father and daughter, bowing slightly before retreating from the room and closing the door behind her.

"And if our second is born first, your child will become Arl or Arlessa of Denerim, and ours will inherit Gwaren." Anora reached for a small pastry on the tray, delicately tearing it into two pieces and brining a small piece to her mouth.

Loghain nodded once. "Correct. If we—meaning the four of us—decide differently later, we will address it then."

"And you are certain about your chances of having a child?"

Loghain poured a cup of tea for Anora, handing it to her as he answered. "Yes; it is difficult for one Grey Warden to either carry or sire a child. For two Grey Wardens, the chances are almost infinitesimal." Loghain paused for a moment and Anora thought she saw a brief flicker of sadness cross her father's face before he set his stony façade in place once more. "We do not dwell on what we cannot have, but rather focus on what we already have in each other."

Anora took a sip of her herbed tea, giving a small snort when she finished. "When you first met Maric, did you ever think you would have to think of such things? Royal and noble succession strategies must have been the farthest thing from your mind."

Loghain scoffed, a smirk crossing his face. "You have no idea." He observed Anora grin lightly, her hands once again resting against her protruding stomach. Loghain's grin turned into a more genuine smile, watching his child caress her stomach lovingly, where his and Maric's grandchild grew. Soon, the child would be here, heir to two noble Ferelden bloodlines; the unification that he and Maric both wished for complete.

"Anora, you look beautiful."

Anora turned to her father, a slightly sheepish look on her face. Her father was never one to lavish anyone with compliments and on the rare occasions he lavished one on her, Anora felt both proud yet awkward. She felt heat blossom in her cheeks and knew her fair skin was being stained a light pink.

"You look very much like your mother did when she was pregnant with you. I can scarcely believe you are no longer a little girl with pigtails and skinned knees."

"Thank you, Father," Anora replied, silently admonishing herself for not being able to say anything more meaningful. They were never good at expressing their feelings to one another; Anora thought that maybe with her child coming, now would be a good time to change that. She wanted her child to be close to its grandfather, showering him with the love that only a child could provide. "I'm very happy that I can give you a grandchild at last."

Loghain took a sip of his tea, his gaze moving from Anora to the fire in the small hearth. They sat quietly for several moments, the silence both comfortable, yet slightly awkward. Loghain admonished himself; this was his daughter and there was no reason to be awkward in his feelings for her or showing her how much he loved her.

"Father, I am glad to see you happy," Anora began, withdrawing her hand from his and plucking at her gown ever so slightly. Her and her father rarely had would could be considered a father-daughter talk and though she was grateful for the time alone with her father, she felt slightly uncomfortable around him, as if he were a stranger; in a way, he was a stranger to her.

"It certainly was a strange road to get to this point."

"Strange indeed," Anora scoffed, remembering well the last Landsmeet where her father fought Lhiannon in a duel and lost, changing the course of his life so radically. At that time, it looked as if there would never be common ground; certainly not between her and Alistair, nor between Lhiannon and her father. The Maker, her father was often apt to say, had a strange sense of humor. Anora found that she could not disagree with that assessment.

The baby was kicking steadily now; Anora reached over and pulled her father's hand toward her. Loghain moved from his chair, kneeling down in front of Anora as she put his hand on her stomach over where the baby was most active. She watched his face light up as he felt the baby kick within her.

"A little warrior," he quietly mused, his face filled with wonder at the life growing inside Anora. "Soon we shall meet in person, little one."

Loghain turned his hand over and gently grasped Anora's, giving it a brief, gentle squeeze. Anora looked at his hand, her eyes scanning its large, scarred, and calloused surface. It nearly swallowed her own small, delicate hand. He held her hand with a surprising gentleness, something Anora rarely saw in her father. Perhaps that would change with the birth of her child. This child could be a new beginning for all of them, a way to forge stronger family ties between them all.

Loghain and Anora both watched the flames dance in the hearth, the gentle warmth filling the room. Anora reluctantly withdrew her hand from Loghain's, taking a sip of tea once more. As she set the cup on the table, a knock on the door drew their attention. Loghain rose from where he knelt in front of Anora, moving toward the door and finding Varel on the other side. The seneschal entered the room, favoring Anora with a courtly bow before speaking.

"Your Majesty; Warden Loghain. Commander Lhiannon requests your presence in the audience hall once more."

"What does the Warden Commander need?" Anora asked, accepting Loghain's hand as he held it out to help guide her to her feet. Varel waited until Anora was steady on her feet before continuing.

"The Warden Commander has an issue that needs to be resolved before the wedding takes place. She has been waiting for your arrival, Your Majesty, before continuing."

Anora turned her head to look at her father, a brow raised in questioning. "What issue is that, Father?"

Loghain snorted irritability. "The Orlesian bard, Marjolaine."

* * *

_That darned muse has hijacked the story again, writing far more plot than I can fit into one chapter. This chapter and the next were meant to be one, but the length was getting really out of hand, __so it had to be split into two more manageable bites. The laundry list that Tyanilth and Shakespira suggested worked a little too well. ;) But good news, __readers...the wedding chapter has finally ____begun (Aura, I can hear you squealing from this side of the pond)! I________t's only about ten chapters later than I thought it would appear in...this story is going to be far longer than I ever imagined it would be. :)_

___________________________________What's coming up in the next chapter? Look at the last word of this chapter. ____________________________________Does she have an appointment with the Grim Reaper? We'll have to see..._

_Special thanks to reviewers Shakespira, Tyanilth, Dark Chubb, Gene Dark, Cloud1004, Dante Alighieri, Aura, Arsinoe, JackOfBladesX, Enaid Aderyn, and Naomis8329. You all rock the house!_

_Thanks also to those of you who have alerted the story this week...you put a big smile on my face.  
_


	27. Confessions

_Note: I slightly tweaked the timeline regarding some of the events in the DA:O world leading up to Ostagar. A longer explanation is at the end of this chapter._

* * *

"With everyone's arrival," Lhiannon said, her gaze moving to Loghain and Anora as they reentered the hall, "there is one other issue we need to have resolved before we can focus on more pleasant activities."

Fergus nodded as he watched Anora and Loghain approach. "Of course; you need only name it."

"We have imprisoned an Orlesian spy and bard, Marjolaine. She was captured in Amaranthine and was the person that gave the man who attempted to murder me his marching orders."

"And you need witnesses to her confession and execution, is that correct?" Fergus asked, his hand brushing his lightly stubbled chin as he thought.

"That, and the approval of the Crown for her execution," Lhiannon explained. "She is an Orlesian citizen; I don't want to see problems with Orlais arise because of this. We have enough of them without adding one more."

"She is a known spy," Loghain added, pacing nearby with his arms crossed over his chest. "She has committed numerous crimes against Ferelden and is subject to our laws since her crimes were committed on our soil. Execution is the appropriate punishment, no matter what those lickspittles to the northwest say."

The King nodded his understanding, crossing his arms over his chest. "But you need the Crown's official blessing nonetheless, in case Orlais protests," Alistair surmised. "Do you think they actually will protest her execution? Not that I feel bad about it."

"I doubt they will, if she is working with their knowledge," Lhiannon explained. "Acknowledging her and her work could shed a suspicious light on them. I doubt the Empress would want that; the Game is too exciting. Besides, they may look on it as Marjolaine's fault she was caught; sloppy bards need to be eliminated from their ranks so that only the best remain."

Loghain continued his agitated pacing. "Executing her will likely be a blow to their spy network, but I highly doubt that will deter them," he scowled, slashing a hand through the air.

Anora nodded her assent. "You shall have the support of the Crown. Let there be no question. We must send a message to those seeking to weaken Ferelden from within that we will not stand for foreign spies committing crimes and plying their craft within our borders."

"Agreed," Alistair said, nodding once in approval. "Marjolaine is far more trouble than she is worth; too dangerous to be left alive."

Lhiannon motioned the party toward the door to the hall. "Then let us get this over with so we can move on to happier events."

* * *

High clouds covered the sky as Lhiannon led her retinue across the courtyard of the Vigil to the small building that held the entrance to the prison. Two guards flanked the door, standing at attention and saluting as Lhiannon arrived. They opened the door as the Commander approached, revealing the stairway that led into the depths of the earth, dimly lit and foreboding.

Alistair helped Anora down the dimly lit steps into the prison where Marjolaine was housed. He had tried talking her out of coming as they left the audience hall of the Vigil, but she favored him with a frosty glare that told him without words she would brook no further argument on the matter. She would witness the final interrogation and execution of the bard that had threatened Ferelden stability and that was final. In that moment Alistair could clearly see the father within the daughter and let the matter drop. He had learned early on to pick his battles with the Queen very carefully.

The group of royals and nobles entered the main room of the prison, observing the blindfolded bard standing on her toes in the middle of the room, manacles dangling from a chain attached to a ceiling beam that secured her wrists high above her head. Her head had been bowed, but she raised it as the sounds of many footfalls approached. Two guards stood at the door leading to the cells, their looks of profound boredom falling from their faces as they watched the visitors enter.

Alistair snorted as he regarded the bard. "Well, I'd say it was nice to see you again, but that would be a lie, and lying is _bad_. Quite a different position from the last time we met. Your accommodations aren't quite so lavish."

Marjolaine sneered lightly, her face weary. "Lovely to see you again, bastard."

"Now, now, such name calling will hardly endear you to me or the Queen," Alistair said, crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk. "Surely such things are beneath such a skilled bard as yourself."

"But is it name calling if it is true? And you have the Queen with you? Her Regent father left her alive, after all? Too bad, though she is lucky my lady Celene did not have her way. Her lifeless body would have been floating in the Amaranthine Ocean to be eaten and shit out by carrion feeders."

Anora scoffed angrily, but held her place as Loghain held up a hand. He leaned forward and whispered into his daughter's ear. "Pay her no heed; it will be she providing the feast for the carrion birds this day." Loghain approached Marjolaine, looming over her.

"Dispatch with the pleasantries, bard," Loghain sneered. "Answer the questions we put to you."

"What questions? I do not remember being asked any."

Lhiannon stepped up to Marjolaine, glaring at her in irritation as the bard flinched slightly, likely sensing just how close Lhiannon stood before her. Red anger welled up inside Lhiannon, most intense along the scar that marred the skin of her breast where the dagger that nearly ended her life had been thrust; thrust into her chest by a madman who had received his weapon and orders from this sorry excuse for a human. Not only had Lhiannon been a target, but Leliana too had been threatened and abused by this pathetic creature, carrying her own mental and physical scars as a result. The bard had strung them along for long enough. Lhiannon reached up, her hand connecting with Marjolaine's face, a whimper of surprise and pain escaping the bard's lips as one of Lhiannon's rings drew a thin line of blood.

"No more snippy answers," Lhiannon growled into Marjolaine's ear, "no more game playing. You will not leave Vigil's Keep alive, bitch, and the manner of your leaving is in your hands. You can tell us what you know and die swiftly with whatever shred of dignity you have left intact; or, you can continue to play games and be executed so slowly you will _beg _for death.

"You were in Redcliffe when Isolde attacked me. Since you disappeared at some point after Isolde was arrested only to turn up in Amaranthine later, I can only presume you went to give a status update to your employer and receive new orders."

Marjolaine snorted, her head hung lower than Lhiannon had observed in some time; perhaps she was finally breaking for good. "Ah," the bard said quietly, a small yet knowing grin crossing her features, "the Commander has a spine after all. I'm amazed that you have held out from striking me this long; I would not have held out. Though bards are taught patience, it can, and does, run out." She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Perhaps I was moving information back and forth. It was not the first time."

"Perchance a bit of truth from the bard after all," Loghain sneered, leering over Marjolaine, who flinched from the sensation of Loghain looming over her. Lhiannon stepped even closer, coming up on Marjolaine's other side to contribute to the sense of looming.

"What other information did you pass back and forth?" Lhiannon asked, her voice low and lips hovering just beyond the shell of Marjolaine's ear.

"I carried letters addressed to the late King of Ferelden."

"You passed messages back and forth between Cailan and Celene?" Loghain growled, his voice taking a menacing tone. Marjolaine grimaced slightly, trying to pull away from Loghain, but the chains holding her upright offered little slack.

"I did not pass them into the hands of the King directly," Marjolaine spat, her voice taking on a slightly desperate undertone. "I took them to Redcliffe, per my orders."

"Eamon," Loghain growled, clenching his fists to the point where his fingernails dug into the calloused skin of his palms, leaving little red indentations in their wake. Loghain had suspected Eamon had direct dealings with the Orlesians given the letters Lhiannon had found at Ostagar. To hear his suspicions all but confirmed made Loghain's skin crawl. Eamon's own father and sister fought against Orlesian domination; Rendorn had given his very _life _fighting them. Eamon's actions were nothing short of a disgrace to the Guerein name.

"Sometimes," Marjolaine confirmed with a sigh, her voice becoming resigned. Loghain looked to Lhiannon and smirked. _Breaking, _he mouthed to her. Lhiannon nodded, turning back to Marjolaine.

"And other times?"

"I gave them to the Arlessa."

"And your orders; who gave them to you?" Lhiannon asked. "This Clotaire you mentioned?"

Marjolaine snorted derisively. "Perhaps."

"And from where did he get his orders?"

"I know not. I only ever received my orders and gold from him. I did not question where my gold came from, only that it was the correct amount."

"You really have no idea where this Clotaire received his orders?" Alistair asked, his eyes narrowing at Marjolaine. "You expect us to believe that you were unaware of his employer?"

"Ignorant bastard," Marjolaine snarled. "I'm sure my sweet Leliana divulged the bards' communication and chain of command secrets to you already. She always loved the sound of her own voice." She laughed then, an edge of desperation under the gesture. "Ignorant barbarian, just like the rest of your barbaric, dog screwing people."

Loghain reached up with his tall frame, grasping and shaking the chains binding Marjolaine. The bard fought to keep her balance, hissing as the manacles dug into the skin of her wrists. "Let us start at the beginning, for the benefit of our guests," Loghain growled, releasing the chains and moving in a careful circle around Marjolaine. "We know that Eamon sought to have Anora set aside because she had not borne Cailan's heir. Was this an idea of his making?"

"I was paid to make a suggestion to the Arlessa that perhaps there was a solution to the problem of there being no heir."

"And what did you suggest?" Loghain sneered, leaning toward Marjolaine's ear, so close that his breath rustled the strands of hair on her head.

"I suggested that perhaps the King needed a wife who was not barren," Marjolaine said, recoiling slightly from Loghain's proximity. "I suggested that there is one equal to his own standing that would be interested in such an...alliance."

Loghain's face turned to a scowl when he looked to Anora and saw the pain in her eyes. She had honestly loved Cailan and had been deeply hurt and angered by his betrayal. Marjolaine's words ripped the scab off Anora's wound, allowing the pain to come roaring to the surface once more. Loghain saw Alistair come forward to rest his hand on the small of the Queen's back.

"Don't comfort me," she growled at the King, her eyes never leaving the bard's blinded face. "I need to hear this; to learn of just how treacherous Calian was. How duplicitous Eamon and Isolde were, despite their honeyed words and _talk _of family."

"The alliance was all but complete when King Cailan decided to lead the armies at Ostagar," Marjolaine continued. "When Cailan returned from the front, he was going to have the papers drawn up to divorce the Queen and marry the Empress. When Cailan died at Ostagar, plans changed."

"Plans changed how?" Loghain asked, each word spoken with a deliberate slowness directly into Marjolaine's ear, his fists still clenched; the pain in his hands served as a focus for his anger at Cailan's betrayal. He would have handed Ferelden to Orlais without thought of the consequences. The bard flinched and bit her lower lip as Loghain continued to loom over her, his hands resting on the chains that bound her in place; a silent threat.

"Tell us everything, Marjolaine," Lhiannon suddenly purred, coming around to the front of the bard and lifting the blindfold off her eyes and over her head. Perhaps now was the time to catch Marjolaine off guard; to catch flies with honey instead of vinegar. Loghain looked at her with a brow raised, but made no move to interrupt. Marjolaine blinked rapidly as the blindfold was removed, no doubt the dim light of the room still shocking to her eyes. Lhiannon brushed a healing finger across the cut on Marjolaine's face, the small kindness meant to keep Marjolaine focused on the truth; if they gave small kindnesses when Marjolaine told them viable information or least expected it, perhaps it could be used as an incentive to keep her speaking openly. "Tell us what you know, and I promise you that your execution will be swift and painless."

Marjolaine looked at Lhiannon with skepticism. "After you just backhanded me?"

"I give you my word, sworn in front of my sovereign King and Queen, that you will know and feel nothing. I will have you put into a deep sleep so that you will experience nothing."

"And I give you my solemn word as King of Ferelden that if the Warden Commander goes back on her word, she will be flogged right here at Vigil's Keep, in front of all her Wardens." Alistair put a hand over his heart in a silent vow. "I shall conduct the flogging personally."

Marjolaine scoffed weakly. "That will be cold comfort when I am dead."

"Enough haggling," Anora commanded. "If you wish a merciful death, continue your story. I will order the Warden Commander to execute you slowly myself if you continue playing games."

Marjolaine hung her head as she began to tell her story. "The Arl and Arlessa wanted the Queen off the throne," she began, her eyes pointedly avoiding both Mac Tirs. "In private, they referred to the Queen as a 'dirty commoner'. "

Lhiannon heard Loghain scoff angrily from beside her, his gaze resting pointedly on Fergus. "No one is as _noble_ as the Guereins in his mind. Not even the Couslands, who have been Ferelden nobility for _centuries_, were noble enough for him."

Fergus' look darkened considerably, but he said nothing.

"Eamon and Isolde spoke of what could be done to remove the widowed Queen from the throne; what could be done that would not overly alarm the Bannorn, yet something acceptable to them."

Loghain scowled, his gaze unconsciously flicking to Anora before returning to Marjolaine. Anora's face was a mask of calm, but Loghain saw the way her brow wrinkled ever so slightly, two small lines appearing between her eyes. Loghain recognized the look as one of barely concealed rage and grief. The thought that Cailan's family—who had treated her graciously as Queen—could be so cold and ambitious was clearly somewhat of a shock to Anora. Loghain was also astounded at the depth of Eamon's ambition. From who had he learned such lessons? Loghain could fathom a guess; several of them, in fact.

"What did Eamon and Isolde _think_ would be acceptable to the nobles of Ferelden?" Loghain asked in a low voice.

"They sought to put Connor forth as a candidate for the Crown, since he had a blood tie to Cailan," Marjolaine said.

"Connor?" Fergus gasped. "Did they seek to marry him—a mere boy—to Queen Anora so that he could be King?" A grimace crossed his face at the thought of the Queen marrying a boy who was barely a teenager.

"No," Marjolaine said, shaking her head slowly at the young Teyrn. "They intended to put Connor forward as heir, with Eamon as his regent until Connor was of age to rule on his own. Connor had a blood tie to the throne, being Cailan's cousin, as well as a blood tie to Queen Rowan."

"And with Eamon having a royalist bent, Connor was clearly a better choice than to just leave Anora on the throne herself," Alistair added.

"Because I'm the daughter of a '_dirty commoner'_, not the daughter of a nobleman_ in his own right_," Anora spat, the venom in her voice causing the others assembled in the room to regard her with a certain degree of shock. A cool demeanor from the Queen was not a surprise to anyone, but the venom in her voice was something few people ever heard. "Never mind that my father was elevated to the nobility by King Maric after the war; common birth is common birth to royalists like Eamon and Isolde." Anora scoffed angrily.

"What about Queen Anora?" Lhiannon asked, a pit forming on her stomach at the answer the bard was most likely to give. "What was to become of her if Connor was named heir? Or if Cailan survived?"

Marjolaine chuckled mirthlessly. "Is it not obvious? Are you so dense as to not know?"

"They would have killed me," Anora growled, her face and voice hard as she gave words to her darkest suspicions. Lhiannon felt a dark rage from Loghain at the thought of what could have happened had the events of Ostagar ended differently or the Guereins' plans come to fruition.

"You would cause little trouble from a pyre or bloated at the bottom of the Amaranthine Ocean," Marjolaine agreed.

Lhiannon's face lit up in understanding. "Eamon sought to be named regent instead of being named King himself because he likely thought an Orlesian Queen—Isolde—would not sit well with the nobles." Lhiannon's gaze fell to Loghain. "Especially those nobles who fought in the war with Orlais and remembered when Meghren was King."

"And _he_ dared to call _me_ a traitor to Ferelden by my actions," Loghain growled through gritted teeth, pounding a fist into his other hand. "I sought to preserve this nation; to keep it free and independent of foreign influence. Eamon actually thought of putting that ridiculous bitch Isolde on the throne as Queen. I can _guarantee_ that that proposal would have died a quick death within the Landsmeet. I would have fought that with every ounce of my being." Loghain paused for a moment, his scowl turning even darker and more ominous. "_None of them_ would have been safe from me had harm come to my daughter."

Marjolaine nodded, the chains holding her secure rattling slightly. "That was their plan; to call an immediate Landsmeet and put Connor forth as heir to the throne. But before they could put their plan into motion, Connor began to show magical tendencies."

Lhiannon nodded her understanding. "Which meant that he would have been taken to Kinloch Hold immediately, forfeiting all claims to any lands and titles, per the laws of the Chantry."

"Isolde immediately began to panic," Marjolaine continued. "She was determined to see that Connor learn to hide his abilities from both the Chantry and his father. She was not about to give him up to the Circle, nor see his rightful inheritance stripped away."

Lhiannon nodded her understanding. "And that was when Jowan arrived in Redcliffe."

"The Arlessa discretely hired Jowan, passing him off as just another tutor for Connor," Marjolaine said. "It wasn't long after Jowan began tutoring Connor that Eamon fell ill."

Lhiannon looked toward Loghain, seeking to gauge his reaction to Marjolaine's words. His face was set in stone, appearing neutral to those in the room that were not Grey Wardens. Lhiannon could feel a degree of discomfort from Loghain as he clearly thought back on his role in the events being discussed.

"Eamon needed to be taken out of the equation," Loghain said, his eyes locked onto the bard before him. "Jowan was the instrument; I suspected Eamon would make some sort of move against the Queen, and I was right."

"That was when Eamon fell ill, and Connor made his deal with the desire demon," Lhiannon said. "And Isolde had no choice but to turn to us for help when we arrived seeking Eamon's assistance."

"Were you in Redcliffe when we arrived for the first time?" Alistair asked Marjolaine. The bard shook her head. "When I saw Connor behaving strangely and strange things started to happen in Redcliffe Castle, I left."

"You fled, more likely," Loghain growled. "When plans did not go as you expected in Redcliffe, you fled to Denerim to save your sorry skin."

Marjolaine gave Loghain a small snarl, the venom almost nonexistent now where in the past it would have been so thick as to be nearly palpable. "I was not hired and paid to be killed by demons and the undead." The bard paused for a moment before continuing. "After Eamon was cured by the sacred ashes and it became clear that Connor's abilities could no longer be hidden, they realized that the only option they had was to put King Alistair himself up for the throne."

"And my life hasn't been the same since," Alistair mumbled under his breath, turning toward Anora beside him. "I was terrified when Eamon first proposed it. I didn't want to be King; I was terrified that people would die and I would be stranded somewhere wondering what happened to my pants." Anora rolled her eyes.

"Isolde had hoped that the King would outright refuse or abdicate the throne had he been elected," Marjolaine explained. "If he did not abdicate, Eamon thought he we would be able to influence Alistair, using their relationship to do so."

"And Isolde was _willing_ to participate in this?" Loghain asked, his voice conveying his skepticism. "Isolde made no secret of the fact that she wanted nothing to do with Alistair, thinking that he was Eamon's illegitimate son."

"She was certainly not my biggest fan," Alistair said, shaking his head sadly. "She more or less ignored me unless she was berating me for something. She is the one who convinced Eamon that I should be raised in the stables, far away from her and the Arl, before she had me shipped off to the Chantry."

"As Alistair continued his travels with the Warden Commander and their companions, it became clear that he was seriously considering becoming King," Marjolaine said. "When it was looking more and more like Alistair was, in fact, going to accept the role, Isolde began to turn her rage toward the Warden Commander, thinking that it was she who convinced Alistair to become King though either sex or magic. She hated the mages of the Circle."

"Hag. Ferelden needed Anora as the Queen with Alistair as her King," Lhiannon said, gazing between Alistair and the prisoner. "He was Calenhad's heir and we knew the Landsmeet would support him and accept Anora as his wife and Queen, especially if the Grey Wardens endorsed it."

"Anora was perfectly capable of ruling the country alone," Loghain growled. "She did so while Cailan traipsed about Ferelden, seeking glory from his people while Anora bore the burdens of rule."

"Father…"

"That, however, is moot," Loghain said, holding up a hand to still Anora's protests.

"What did Isolde say in private, Marjolaine?" Lhiannon asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "When it was just you and her, or her and Eamon? _What did they say?"_

"They were furious that you spared a man they believed murdered their kin to satisfy his ambition," Marjolaine said.

"Arl Eamon was aware of Arlessa Isolde's plans for the Warden Commander?" Fergus asked, breaking his long silence and concentration with the question. He had been so quiet that Lhiannon had almost forgotten he was there.

Marjolaine nodded once, weary and broken. "Yes."

"And she found solace within the Chantry, thinking it was the mages of the Circle who took Connor from her?" Fergus further asked, his brows knitting together in concentration. "Does she not know that it is the Chantry's decree that new mages be taken to the Circle? That they lose claim to their titles and inheritances?"

"She hopes that by tireless devotion to the Maker and the Chantry, the Maker will lift the curse of magic from Connor."

Lhiannon felt the muscles of her face turn down, a frown crossing her features. "I don't like the way that sounds."

"Nor I," Loghain agreed.

Lhiannon looked toward the bard, who kept her eyes averted and staring at the ground. "You've been very open with your information," she said warily, moving forward and lifting Marjolaine's chin so that their gazes met. "_Very_ open."

"Silence was not part of my contract, nor was I paid for it. Just as I wasn't paid to deal with demons and the undead."

Alistair then stepped forward, coming to stand in front of Marjolaine. The bard raised her eyes to the young King. "Will you sign a confession?" Alistair asked, crossing his arms against his chest. "Are you willing to go to the Maker with a clean conscience?"

Marjolaine scoffed lightly, a wistful and sad grin crossing her features. "The Maker and I have not had a relationship in some time, and I hardly think I will be at his side when I die. However, I will sign your document on the chance that the Maker is a forgiving sort."

Alistair turned toward Varel. "Have a scribe brought here, Seneschal Varel. We shall take her confession in front of these witnesses."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Varel said, bowing slightly before leaving to find the Vigil's scribe.

Alistair returned his gaze to the bard. "Marjolaine; I, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, hereby sentence you to death for crimes against the Arling of Amaranthine and Kingdom of Ferelden, as well as personal crimes against the Warden Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine. May the Maker have mercy on your soul."

Lhiannon watched him step back toward Anora before turning toward Marjolaine again. "Once your confession is finished, well move you back to a cell. I will have Anders come and settle you into a deep sleep. I promise you: you will feel nothing." She turned to Loghain. "Find the keys to her manacles."

Loghain turned to the guards posted nearby, holding his hand out for the keys. Once they were in hand, he reached above Marjolaine's head to release her hands. Marjolaine lowered her arms with a grimace, shaking her hands to return circulation to her limbs. Loghain reached over to a small hook on the wall, removing a pair of manacles with a short chain connecting them, quickly securing Marjolaine's wrists with them. Varel's footsteps echoed on the stairs a moment later, quickly followed by the steps of the Vigil's scribe. The guards nearby kept their hands on the hilts of their swords, preparing for anything.

"Come, bard," Loghain barked, giving Marjolaine a shove toward the doorway leading to the cells. "It is time for your confession."

Marjolaine stumbled forward a step, turning her head and snarling at Loghain as she regained her balance. She glared at Loghain for a moment before she shifted her eyes to the guards, then over to where Fergus and Varel stood. With a sudden movement almost too quick to be followed, Marjolaine launched herself at the Queen of Ferelden, yanking her away from where Alistair and Fergus stood. She wrapped her hands around the Queen's slender neck, the short chain from the manacles digging into the Queen's skin. The guards pulled their swords, taking steps toward the bard. Anora gasped in surprise, her eyes wide as the bard pulled her forcefully away from the others.

"Back away, filthy dogs," Marjolaine snarled at the guards, who stopped their movement with a hand from Lhiannon. Marjolaine turned her attention to Alistair. "Move away from the stairs, bastard King, or I shall snap the Queen's pretty neck."

Loghain snarled in rage, taking a step closer to where Marjolaine held Anora captive. "You will remove your filthy hands from my daughter," he snarled. His rage exploded from him into the taint; both Lhiannon and Alistair felt Loghain's rage pour into them, a burning not unlike a fever filling them.

"Marjolaine," Lhiannon quietly purred, taking a small step toward the bard, "don't do this. I promised you a painless execution; you will make me break that promise if you continue down this path."

"Perhaps I don't _wish_ to be executed," Marjolaine snarled, twisting Anora's neck slightly to bring forth a gasp of pain from the Queen. "I may be discredited amongst the bards for having been captured and interrogated, but with the death of your precious Queen, I can at least partially redeem myself."

"You will _never_ leave here alive," Alistair growled. "Let my wife go."

"You are in no position to make demands, bastard," Marjolaine snarled. "With your Queen's death, her child—and your heir—will die with her. You will have civil war again; you barbarians will plunge your nation into chaos trying to keep your pathetic line alive. But, perhaps, there will still be an offer of help from the north."

"I would rather die than live under the rule of _any_ Orlesian, especially that bitch," Loghain snarled.

"_That can be arranged_," Marjolaine exclaimed, pulling Anora toward the stairs leading to the surface and her escape. "Now, get me a horse, traveling supplies, a weapon, and armor or the Queen dies."

"You know that escape will be impossible," Fergus said, not moving from his place near the stairs. "You won't leave Vigil's Keep alive; there are guards everywhere."

Marjolaine turned toward Lhiannon, snarling and squeezing the Queen's neck until Anora gasped, trying to pull the chain away from her neck. "Let me go," she snarled angrily, her voice raspy from the pressure on her neck.

"I think not, _Your Majesty_," Marjolaine snarled, jerking Anora's neck once more. Her gaze went back to Lhiannon. "You will order your men to allow me safe passage. I will let the Queen go once we reach the gates. I suggest you hurry; I often _slip_ when I am nervous." To emphasize her point, she jerked Anora's neck once more, a yelp of pain coming from the Queen, quickly followed by angry snarls from both Alistair and Loghain.

When no one was moving fast enough for Marjolaine's satisfaction, she shifted her hands slightly to that the chain dug even deeper into Anora's skin, squeezing and twisting Anora's neck even more, slowly dragging her toward the steps leading outside. Anora's face had begun to turn red moments ago, but now her lips were becoming blue as Marjolaine squeezed the life out of the Queen.

Lhiannon watched the unfolding scene with anger and disbelief. She had offered Marjolaine mercy for her information and yet the bard took advantage. _I am such a fool,_ Lhiannon lamented, becoming angry with herself for believing the bard broken and ready to accept her fate. Marjolaine would certainly kill the Queen in an effort to escape and would likely kill her anyway regardless of the outcome. She would deal a terrible blow to the Crown and Ferelden by murdering the beloved Queen and the heir she carried.

Lhiannon could not allow that.

* * *

Loghain's furious, desperate glare was solely focused on Anora, his outrage, anger, and fear pouring into the taint as he watched Anora's face. He quickly looked about the room for any advantage. Marjolaine would soon be at the steps leading to the surface, where she would drag the Queen up and outside, using her as ransom in her bid for escape. Loghain knew that Marjolaine had no intention of leaving Anora alive. He knew that Anora's death—and the death of the heir—would plunge Ferelden into uncertainty once more. While they had a king of Calenhad's line, there would be no heir and the ambitious nobles would barely wait for the funerary pyre to cool before seeking to force their daughters onto the King. The death of the Queen and heir would bring about dark days for Ferelden.

Rushing the bard would cause unnecessary risk to Anora; the bard was carefully using Anora as a human shield as she kept her captive. Anyone charging at them would first hit Anora's protruding stomach, no doubt injuring the innocent child growing within. Loghain was loath to risk hurting Anora; the thought of injuring both her and her unborn child was an unacceptable risk.

Loghain caught movement from the corner of his eye. Turning his head minutely, he saw that Lhiannon had positioned her hands behind her back, their movements slow and fluid. She was casting. A small flame of hope was kindled within him. Loghain did not know what Lhiannon could be casting to help them, but he was determined to give her every opportunity to weave her spell.

"Marjolaine," Loghain called out, bringing the bard's attention to him. "What do you hope to accomplish by killing the Queen? You know you will never leave here alive, so what do you hope to gain?"

* * *

Lhiannon continued to cast, drawing her energy around her as she wove barely perceptible words with her gestures to cast a spell she had never cast before. She saw Alistair glance in her direction for a brief moment, no doubt sensing her magical manipulations through his templar abilities. Her power continued to gather, memories and words surfacing in her mind as those given to her by the ancient phylactery in the Brecilian Forest.

When she had found the phylactery and freed the entity within, it imparted the knowledge of an arcane warrior within her, teaching her how to channel her magical talents into strength, as well as teaching her new spells that had not been cast by a living creature in centuries. The entity explained to her, in the pictures and memories it imparted into her brain, that there was a spell she could use in the most desperate of circumstances; a time spiral that would slow the perception of time to those around her and allow her to recast spells immediately rather than endure the wait for that spell's mana to regenerate. The entity had warned her, however, that the spell would quickly sap her mana and leave her vulnerable after the casting, possibly to the point where her magic would be useless. Lhiannon, though, could not see any other alternative but to use the spell.

As she continued casting, Lhiannon watched with rapt fascination as Loghain's words began to slow, becoming drawn out. His breaths became slower and longer. Even the dust motes floating through the air seemed to hang suspended, unmoving. Marjolaine's movements slowed and then appeared to stop, Anora still clutched in her hands, perfectly still. Fergus, Varel, and Alistair stood still as statues, their expressions of disbelief and anxiety frozen on their faces.

Lhiannon felt her mana rapidly draining, running like water through a sieve; she knew the spell would only last for a few more moments at the speed with which her mana was depleting. She moved to Loghain's side and crouched down, her hands quickly running over his fine boots. It was strange; he was as still as a statue, yet she could feel the warmth of his body radiating through his clothing.

As her hands brushed over the smooth side of Loghain's right boot, she found the small concealed opening she was looking for. Every pair of boots Loghain possessed had a small pocket for a hunting knife; he never left their chambers without a weapon of some sort, and so always carried at least a hunting knife hidden away. With a small tug, the knife quickly slipped out of the sheath and into her hand. As Lhiannon stood upright, she fought a sudden, almost crippling wave of nausea brought on by the speed at which her mana was draining. Even now, she could see the dust motes that had hung suspended in the air begin to ever so slowly drift along the awakening air currents. The spell was weakening, and her with it. With as much speed as she could muster, she moved behind where Marjolaine held Anora by the throat, her anger at the bard rising to the surface once again, causing the scar on her chest to burn and throb beneath her fine gown. Lhiannon raised the knife to the bard's throat as her vision began to grow a hazy gray and sliced the skin from ear to ear, watching as the cut first appeared to be a line in the skin, then slowly began to turn red as the blood slowly welled up from beneath the flesh. Several of the drops lazily moved away from Marjolaine's skin, heading directly toward the Queen. Lhiannon grimaced; Anora would not be very happy wearing Marjolaine's blood but considering the circumstances, the Queen would hopefully understand. With the last of her mana fading and her strength with it, Lhiannon pulled the bard's hands away from Anora's neck and thrust the hunting dagger into Marjolaine's flesh at the base of her skull, twisting it with a grimace against muscle and bone as her legs collapsed beneath her. Darkness took her as she fell.

* * *

"Maker's breath!"

Loghain blinked rapidly at the curse from the Teyrn of Highever's mouth. Where a spilt second before Lhiannon had been standing nearby, she was now crumpled on the floor behind the dead form of Marjolaine, her cooling blood covering the back of the Queen's head and back. Anora had stumbled as Marjolaine fell and it was the quick thinking of Fergus Cousland that kept her on her feet. Alistair was quickly at the Queen's side before Loghain could cover the distance with his long strides. He was not sure how Lhiannon had done it, but he was grateful the conniving bitch Marjolaine lay dead, her blood rapidly cooling beneath her on the stone floor.

"Are you and the child unharmed?" Loghain asked his daughter, who along with the King gingerly guided Anora to her feet. He looked anxiously at Lhiannon, who was being tended to by the young Teyrn, Varel standing just behind him.

Nodding, Anora first rubbed her stomach before she brought a hand to her tightly braided and bound hair, grimacing at the blood that coated her hand. "I'm fine, Father, but I could make do with a bath." She tilted her head toward Lhiannon. "She needs your attention."

Fergus had knelt at Lhiannon's side, resting a hand on her forehead; her skin was clammy and cool but she was starting to stir. He looked between Alistair and Loghain. "How in the bloody hell did she do that? Did you know she could?"

Kneeling down next to the Teyrn, Loghain slipped his hands beneath Lhiannon, helping her into a sitting position with Fergus' assistance. Lhiannon groaned, bringing her hand to her head and grimacing.

"_I_ never knew," Alistair said, his glance landing on Loghain, brows raised in questioning. "You?"

"No," Loghain confirmed, helping Lhiannon keep steady as she leaned to her side and began retching. When she finished-and thank the Maker nothing came out-she brought her hands to the sides of her pounding head. Her skin felt clammy, her stomach sore from the retching. She looked up and smiled weakly at the blood covered Queen. "I'm sorry about the mess." Once she seemed steadier, Loghain reached over and pulled his hunting dagger from Marjolaine's neck, wiping the blade on the bard's dirty shirt.

"You're worried about the mess?" Fergus asked. "You saved the Queen and you're worried about the mess?"

"Well," Lhiannon shrugged, allowing Loghain to pull her shakily to her feet. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her as she briefly stumbled. "I feel obligated to replace her gown now." With a grin, she looked to Alistair. "You're not going to flog me for breaking my promise of a painless execution, are you?"

Alistair returned her grin with a lopsided smirk of his own. "I'll let you slide this time, Warden Commander."

Varel looked down on Marjolaine's cooling body, a slight grimace crossing his features at the sight. "Why then, would she divulge so much information to us if she was planning an escape?"

"To lull us into a false sense of security, no doubt," Fergus said, nudging the body with his toe. Marjolaine's lifeless eyes stared outward, her expression of disbelief frozen on her face. "Leading us on with her information, letting us think she was truly broken."

"She said it herself; she wasn't paid to keep those secrets," Loghain growled, angry with himself that more was not done to ensure the bard would not try to pull any tricks. "We never should have given her an opportunity to use what resources she had around her to attempt escape. We were fools."

"You're right; we _were_ fools. The fault is mine as Warden Commander." She turned to Anora, dropping unsteadily down on one knee before her, her head hung low and eyes not meeting the Queen's. Loghain moved toward Lhiannon, but she waved him off with a curt, "No, Loghain." She then turned her bowed head back toward the Queen. "I humbly beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. I was negligent in releasing the bard; my people should not be held accountable for my poor judgment. I submit myself to whatever punishment you deem appropriate as your Arlessa and vassal."

Anora scoffed, pulling herself up to her full height, any sense of levity devoid from her features. "I believe a public flogging is appropriate; twenty of them in front of all your Wardens so that they may learn from your poor judgment, delivered by your King, as he is still a Grey Warden. The negligence and punishment was and should be carried out within the ranks of the Grey Wardens. However, in light of certain mitigating circumstances, punishment is hereby waived in this instance. Warden Commander, I want you to look at me." Lhiannon brought her gaze to the Queen, whose blue eyes held the same icy intensity as her father's. "I expect better judgment from you and your people from now on. We, the people of Ferelden, depend on you. _Do not fail us._ Now, rise."

Lhiannon regained her feet, nodding solemnly at the Queen, whose face had softened, a warmer expression on her delicate face. The Queen reached forward, placing her hands on the outer curve of Lhiannon's shoulders. "Thank you, Lhiannon, for your timely intervention."

"It was my duty. At any rate, Marjolaine is dead now," Lhiannon said, giving the bard's body a hard kick. Marjolaine's form shifted slightly before settling once more into the pool of blood she lay in. "I will prepare the bitch's pyre myself."

* * *

_A/N: A few notes on this chapter. I just recently started a new DA:O game and when you arrive at Redciffe for the first time, it's mentioned that Loghain poisoned Eamon before the events at Ostagar. When Duncan and the Warden arrive at Ostagar, Duncan tells Cailan that Eamon has said just recently that he can have his armies at Ostagar within two days. If Loghain had poisoned Eamon and neutralized him by then, how could Eamon have spoken to or sent word to Duncan with that message so soon before the events at Ostagar? Also, when playing as a mage, Jowan pulls his blood magic stunt while Duncan is at Kinloch Hold; how could Loghain have learned about, found, and hired Jowan in time to neutralize Eamon before the events at Ostagar? Duncan and the new mage Warden head directly to Ostagar from Kinloch Hold; Loghain is good, but even he can't have Scotty beam Jowan to him and then to Redcliffe in time to sicken the Arl before Ostagar. That span of time seemed just a little too narrow in my head.  
_

_So, in Lhiannon's world, the events transpired as spoken of here. Cailan dies. Connor's abilities manifest. Isolde hires Jowan. Jowan poisons Eamon at Logahin's command._

_"Time Spiral" is an arcane sp__ell available to mages that resets the cool down time for spellcasting. It slows the perceptio__n of time; I thought that could be expanded to include the perception of th__ose in the immediate vicinity. It uses a great deal of mana, so the possibility exists that the spell could be cast, the cool down resets...and you don't have enough mana left for any spells. Oops. I wanted to stick with the arcane spells from DA:O and Awakening rather than bring in a DA2 spell._

_Enormous, huge, gigantic, and man__y, many thanks to Shakespira for givi__n__g me the idea to have M________arjolaine try to escape by taking a hostage. I had to rewrite the last third of the chapter, but her idea was simply fantastic. My friend, you are a brilliant (and evil) genius! Love you! __If you haven't checked out Shakespira's stories, do yourself a favor and read them. Her stories are all wonderful, but her Leonie Caron series is simply brilliant. So, check them out and give her the glowing reviews that she deserves._

_The next two chapters promise to be lighter and more festive. You know what that means... :)_

_As always, loads of thanks go out to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Tyanilth, Cloud1004, Shakespira, sleepyowlet, Arsinoe, JackOfBladesX, Gene, Dark Chubb (I hope you've forgiven me!), Enaid Aderyn, and naomis8329. Your reviews are always welcome and appreciated!  
_

_Thanks to all you quiet readers as well!  
_


	28. Last Minute Details

_A/N: Lhiannon is running around a lot this chapter finishing up those last minute details, so we jump around a bit. Apologies.  
_

* * *

The day before the wedding dawned with bright sunshine, promising clear skies and pleasant temperatures with nary a cloud in the sky. A gentle breeze blew through the Vigil, a whisper amongst the stones of the aged fortress. Sunlight streamed into the room Lhiannon slept in, gently warming her face as it forced her eyes open and beckoned her out of bed.

As Lhiannon swung her legs over the side of the bed, butterflies began to flutter in her stomach as she thought about the last minute duties to be completed before the sun bid farewell to the day. Most of the critical day-to-day duties had already been addressed and Varel would be briefed on the others that day, making him ready to lead the Vigil when the Grey Wardens left for Denerim and points south. They would likely be absent for a number of weeks, but Lhiannon knew that she was leaving the Vigil in the most competent of hands with Varel. She trusted him implicitly, his sound judgment and advice a blessing to both her and the arling.

A list of tasks lay before her that had to be completed in preparation for the wedding. She quickly dressed in a simple tunic, trousers, and boots, pulling her hair back and securing it at the base of her neck with a simple leather tie as she made her way through the halls of Vigil's Keep, mentally running through her to-do list. A visit to the King and Queen to go over last minute details for the wedding and to see how Anora was feeling. Two brief conversations with Fergus and Cauthrien regarding the coming Landsmeet. But first, she stopped by Varel's office, handing both her betrothal band and Loghain's wedding band to him, where he would keep them with him until Lhiannon and Loghain slipped them on the other's hand the following day. Lhiannon's thumb kept absentmindedly rubbing her now naked finger as she continued her tasks, unaccustomed to the sudden absence of her ring. Her hand felt strange without its comforting weight.

Groundskeeper Samuel was also on her list of things to do that day, and Lhiannon decided she would visit him next. She found him, unsurprisingly, in the meticulously tended gardens behind the Vigil, lovingly pruning a rose bush and humming an elven folk song as he worked. He had taken great pains to ensure plenty of flowers were available for the wedding, showing her the different flowerbeds scattered throughout the grounds of the Vigil from which he would be taking cuttings. He knew lilacs were Lhiannon's favorite flower and he made sure there were many of them available in several different colors. Samuel had encouraged a variety of roses to bloom; red, white, and yellow buds alongside fully opened flowers. Their heavy scent permeated the air, the fragrance promising that the Vigil would be filled with their pleasant scent on the morrow.

Samuel pointed out the blooms he intended to put together for decoration and for her bouquet as they finished walking through the gardens, emerging not far from the steps of the Vigil. Thanking Samuel for his work, Lhiannon left and began to walk the grounds of the Vigil, preparing for her next errand—gathering her dress at the merchant Lillian's shop.

As she walked the dusty paths of Vigil's Keep, Lhiannon felt the butterflies in her stomach wildly increase their fluttering, turning her stomach over itself time and time again. Samuel's soothing voice and calm demeanor served to settle her nervousness and now that she was on her own again, the butterflies had returned with a vengeance. Her stomach had twisted itself into such a knot by the time she reached the door of Lillian's shop that she thought her body may try to vomit whatever happened to be in her stomach, which was very little since she had been both too nervous and too busy to eat that day. She entered Lillian's store and found Katarina greeting her with a smile; with one look at Lhiannon's face, the smile faltered.

"Warden Commander…"

Lhiannon held up a hand, feeling her stomach nervously lurch once more. "It's Lhiannon, Katarina."

"Lhiannon," Katarina said, coming from around the counter. When she reached Lhiannon, she put a hand up to her forehead, feeling the clamminess there. "Are you all right, Lhiannon? You look out of sorts."

Lhiannon grimaced slightly. "My stomach is doing cartwheels right now. I can hardly concentrate on a rejuvenation spell I'm so nervous. I've been checking on the last minute details for the wedding tomorrow and the trip to Denerim and there simply isn't enough time to finish everything..."

"Well, it's no wonder you're feeling that way," Katarina grinned, pulling Lhiannon toward the door leading to the back of the shop and setting her on a nearby chair. "When I got married, I was a nervous wreck before the wedding. I was almost impossible to live with; snapping at everyone and acting like a spoiled perfectionist." As she spoke, she bustled about a small stove, pouring tea into a dainty cup before reaching into the cupboard overhead. She pulled out a small piece of ginger, scraping some of the root into the cup of tea before adding a dash of honey. She then turned and handed the cup to Lhiannon.

"Take this, Lhiannon. It will calm your nerves a bit, but the best thing you can do now is to try and _relax."_

Lhiannon scoffed, taking a drink of the fragrant tea. "How am I supposed to relax, Katarina? It isn't every day that one gets married. It was never encouraged in the Circle, so I've never thought about it until it actually became _real._"

"You're right about that; it isn't every day that one gets married," Katarina smiled. "But you also need to _enjoy_ this time. Let me take some of the burden from you today."

"I don't want to stress you, Katarina, especially in your condition."

Katarina rubbed her protruding stomach, smiling at Lhiannon warmly. "Don't you worry about my condition. Finish your tea, then go back to the Vigil; Lillian and I will bring your dress first thing in the morning. We'll help Samuel bring the flowers to the Vigil; we have plenty of vases here at we can use, so let us put the flowers together for you."

Feeling a bit more relaxed and slightly less nervous after her visit with Katarina, Lhiannon swallowed the last of her tea and thanked Katarina for her hospitality before setting off once more for the Vigil and her office. There was a stack of last minute paperwork that was also on her list of things to do that day. Glancing out a nearby window, she saw that the day was quickly moving into early afternoon. _Already!_ _Time seems to be passing much faster today!_

* * *

Lhiannon sat at her desk that afternoon, steadily charging through the pile of paperwork on her desk. Her current task involved preparing a list of supplies to be loaded into carts for the trips to Denerim and the Brecilian Forest. Most all the supplies were already on hand at the Vigil, but she found that some things—like food, lyrium, and medicinal herbs—would have to be restocked when they reached Denerim. Alistair had assured her earlier in the day that he would provide supplies from the Crown's own inventory if need be. She would rather they have too much in the way of preserved food and medicines than have too little. Once they passed South Reach, the Dalish would likely have limited supplies for trading. Since they could conceivably spend a number of days in the wilderness traveling to and sealing Urthemiel's breach, she needed to make sure all the proper supplies were on hand.

She had found that keeping busy helped keep her nervousness at the next day's festivities at bay. Loghain, evidentially, must have found it beneficial as well; she had seen him only once earlier in the day, and that was only in passing. He was spending a great deal of time hand picking those last few soldiers that would be accompanying them to Denerim and elsewhere, supervising them as they prepared the carts, horses, and armaments needed for the trip. Lhiannon grinned to herself; she would not be surprised to hear he had also sparred with a number of men, as that was his outlet for nervous or otherwise agitated energies.

A knock on the doorjamb brought Lhiannon's attention to Varel, who stood in the doorway with a somewhat troubled expression on his chiseled face. Lhiannon felt the butterflies in her stomach increase their fluttering; when Varel wore a troubled expression on his otherwise unflappable face, the situation was worrisome indeed.

"Varel, what is it?"

"There is a Sister Nedra from Amaranthine in the audience hall asking to see you. Immediately." He paused briefly, his brow furrowed in thought. "Isn't this the Sister that Leliana spoke of when she and Zevran were in Amaranthine? The day they captured Marjolaine?"

"Sister Nedra? Yes, she's the one," Lhiannon confirmed, her voice nonplussed. She leaned back in her chair, sighing wearily. "I can only imagine what she may be doing here. _Today_."

Varel's brows lowered, an exasperated snort coming from him. "As always, the Chantry's timing is impeccable. Shall I bring her to your office? Or perhaps send her on her way?"

Lhiannon shook her head, the movement causing a few stray strands of hair to come loose from the leather tie. She reached back as she answered, gathering her wayward strands of hair and tying them in place once again. "No, Varel, I'll meet her in study next to the hall."

With a nod, Varel left to usher Sister Nedra into the study, leaving Lhiannon a few precious moments to prepare for whatever it was the Chantry sister wanted. She could fathom a guess. Taking a deep breath, Lhiannon gathered what nerve she could muster and moved through the halls of Vigil's Keep.

The Chantry Sister stood in the small study next to the audience hall, perusing some of the books regarding the history of Amaranthine as she waited. She wore the brightly colored robes of her order, Andraste's brilliant sun emblazoned on the front.

"Sister Nedra."

Nedra replaced the book she was perusing on its shelf, turning around to face Lhiannon. She clasped her hands in front of her, giving only a slight nod of her head. "Arlessa."

"I prefer Warden Commander, but Arlessa is my secondary title," Lhiannon said, her voice even. "What can I do for you, Sister?"

Nedra took a step closer, a hand held out in supplication. "We have always worked well together, have we not?"

"I would like to think we have," Lhiannon said, shrugging slightly. "Your help with the people of Amaranthine has been a blessing; they have been through much in the past two years and I want to see Amaranthine thrive once more." A tickle of dread began to form at the back of Lhiannon's mind; surely Nedra's platitude was meant to diffuse whatever she had to say next. She did not need to wait long.

"Arlessa Lhiannon Amell, on behalf of the Grand Cleric of Ferelden, I ask you to cease your plans for tomorrow." Nedra held her hands out in an earnest plea. "You know the Chantry will not sanction your marriage; it will be as if it doesn't exist. The Maker will not recognize it."

Lhiannon fought the rising tide of anger within her; Nedra did not deserve to be the object of her anger, but she was finding it difficult to not immediately lash out. Nedra was simply following the orders given to her by the Revered Mother and Grand Cleric.

"The Revered Mother couldn't be bothered to come to Vigil's Keep and make this request herself?"

Nedra shrugged, a sheepish expression on her earnest face. "She thought you might be more amenable if the request came from someone you have a good working relationship with."

"My answer is 'no', Nedra. I cannot reconsider. I _will_ _not_ reconsider."

Nedra sighed, dropping her hands to her sides. "Then I have no choice but to inform the Grand Cleric of your refusal."

Lhiannon nodded solemnly. "I understand, Nedra, but before you leave, consider this: isn't it wrong to subjugate an entire group of people and deny them a basic right simply because they can create fire or heal people with magic? The Canticle of Transfigurations says magic is a _gift_; it is not a curse, much like the Chantry would propagate."

"Arlessa..."

Holding up a hand, Lhiannon continued; as long as Nedra was here, she was going to tell her _exactly_ what she thought. "The Tranquil are little more than slaves with a pretty name to the Chantry, the ones who are out in the marketplaces and towns bringing in what coin the lyrium trade does not." She stepped forward at the Sister's troubled look, taking one of Nedra's hands in her own. "Think on this, Nedra: I can see by the look on your face that my words have had an impact. Mages are not to be feared; _I_ am not to be feared. I work for my people just like any other person of my station; the only difference is that I have magic at my disposal. Why shouldn't we have the same rights and privileges as any other person in Ferelden? Don't _we_ have a place in society instead of being locked away in towers?"

A dark look crossed Nedra's face as she withdrew her hand, bringing it up and pointing it at Lhiannon. "What you speak of, Arlessa, is a sacrilege and against the Maker's teachings!" She paused for a moment, sighing heavily. "I won't tell the Grand Cleric of this; I like you, Arlessa, and happen to think that you have been a good leader for Amaranthine, for a mage…"

"For a mage?"

"You know what I mean…"

"No," Lhiannon said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as her arms crossed over her chest, "I don't believe that I do."

Nedra sighed, throwing up her hands slightly in exasperation. "I mean you've been a very good leader, nothing at all like the magisters of the Imperium…"

"Is _that_ what the Revered Mother and Grand Cleric tell you?" Lhiannon asked with a snarl. "They tell you I'm like a _magister_? What other lies do they tell you?" Lhiannon could not help how her voice began to rise and how Nedra shrank away from it. "That I practice blood magic to control my subjects? Am I a slaver as well?"

"Of course they don't!" Nedra cried out. "But magic is to serve and never rule…"

"They should know about servitude…the Chantry preaches against slavery, but look at what they are a part of." Lhiannon began to tick points off on her fingers. "They have the Tranquil, who are content to do whatever it is the Chantry and Circle ask of them, without compensation and without question. The Formari have a slightly better standing; at least _they_ still have their connection to the Fade intact." Lhiannon watched as Nedra's face became troubled. "Then there are the Templars, addicted to lyrium, the substance for which _who _controls the trade? Ah, yes; _the Chantry!_ How else to keep their _army _docile and compliant? They speak of slavery being evil, but they are the biggest purveyors of it!" Lhiannon reached forward and gently grasped Nedra's shoulders. "I _do_ believe in the Maker, Nedra; I just don't believe in the Chantry and their hypocritical ways."

"The Chantry is my _life,_ Arlessa. You can't expect me to just throw away their teachings based on the opinions of one person."

"I'm not asking you to," Lhiannon said in a softer voice, releasing Nedra's shoulders. "I'm just telling you about the Chantry as I see it." She held Nedra's troubled glance, shaking her head slowly. "I won't reconsider my wedding to Loghain; and that is exactly what it is…_a wedding_. It is for the Maker himself to decide if it is valid or not. In our hearts, it _is_ valid, and I think _that _is what makes marriage valid to the Maker."

"And I can tell you that the Grand Cleric will not recognize it; and in her actions, it will not be recognized by the Chantry nor the Maker."

"Then we are at an impasse." Lhiannon knew that nothing more could be gained from talking to the Sister, but hopefully her words gave Nedra something to think about. "Do you need any provisions for your return trip to Amaranthine?"

Nedra shook her head quickly. "No, Arlessa. I and my escorts have plenty of provisions. l will take my leave of you now."

Lhiannon walked Sister Nedra to the main doors of Vigil's Keep, watching with a troubled face as her templar escorts waited nearby, glaring at Lhiannon from behind their full helmets. They kept a close eye on Lhiannon—with hands near their weapons—until Nedra had returned to their group. She watched the man she thought was the lead templar as he examined Nedra closely. Lhiannon scoffed loudly; they clearly thought the evil mage at Vigil's Keep had somehow enchanted their beloved Sister. As they moved off through the gates of the Vigil, Lhiannon rubbed her forehead and sighed. If Nedra did indeed inform the Grand Cleric of her refusal to reconsider her wedding plans, Lhiannon imagined a very cold reception would await them in Denerim.

As Lhiannon secured the door of the Vigil, she turned to see Anders watching from just down the hall, a concerned expression on his face. "Is everything all right, Lhi?"

Lhiannon sighed, rubbing her temple with her hand once more. "Oh, just a Sister from the Chantry wanting me to reconsider the wedding tomorrow."

"Don't you mean she demanded that you stop the wedding?"

Lhiannon scoffed, suddenly fatigued from the conversation with Nedra. "Something like that, Andy. I politely refused."

"Good," Anders nodded, "I'm glad you stood your ground."

"She got an earful from me too," Lhiannon grinned wistfully. "I'm sure the Grand Cleric will be waiting for me when we arrive in Denerim."

"Her and a small army of templars, I'm sure."

Lhiannon sighed, both weary and angry at the Chantry and their blatant hypocrisies. "No doubt."

* * *

As the sun set for the day, Lhiannon felt exhausted, her nervousness regarding Sister Nedra's visit and the excitement for the coming day warring for dominance and sapping her energy. It would be a surprise to her indeed if she were able to concentrate hard enough to cast even a small flame spell at this point. She had not had the chance to speak with Loghain after the Sister's visit, though he had likely by this time heard of it from Varel and Anders, or saw the templars mingling outside the Vigil and surmised why they were there; there was very little did not reach Loghain's ears.

She found herself in the audience hall as the sun continued its descent toward the horizon, the waning sunlight streaming into the windows. Bright decorations hung from the walls and pillars in anticipation of the wedding. The kitchen staff had already set up long tables for food, the tops covered with bright cloth and candelabras. Other tables were set up near the back of the hall, ready for guests to occupy them. An area was set aside for dancing, no doubt Anders' influence; Lhiannon had to admit to herself that the thought of dancing still made her uneasy. She knew she would have to dance at least once; thankfully, Loghain was a patient leader

Lhiannon's thoughts turned back to the day before as her gaze wandered the room, to the time right after Marjolaine's gory execution and cremation. They had planned on rehearsing for the wedding after the execution, but after what nearly happened to the Queen, Lhiannon thought it inappropriate to go through with the rehearsal just then. Loghain had firmly insisted on just the opposite, saying that they _should_ go through with it, if only to return to a sense of normalcy after the chaos preceding Marjolaine's execution. Lhiannon had reluctantly agreed and was afterward glad that they had gone through with it. The rehearsal only lasted a few quick minutes, but had broken the tension between them all, allowing them to begin putting the ordeal with Marjolaine behind them and focusing everyone's attention once more on happier events.

"Lhi?"

Lhiannon turned, seeing Anders enter the audience hall behind her. She gave him a smile, looking about the room and settling her gaze onto the dance floor. "Your idea?" she grinned.

Anders returned her grin, a cheeky expression on his face. "Maybe."

Turning and looking toward Anders over her shoulder, she raised her brows in questioning. "I should have asked you before now, but you'll walk me down the aisle, won't you?"

Anders covered the distance between them on three long, loping strides, taking Lhiannon's hands in his and squeezing them gently. He favored her with a brilliant smile, bringing each of her hands to his lips for a kiss. "It would be my honor."

"You and Jowan are my family," Lhiannon began, feeling a lump beginning to form in her throat at the thought of the two men who were as brothers to her. She nearly laughed at the absurdity of her tears; why she would be tearful now, on the eve of the happiest day of her life thus far, baffled her.

Anders pressed a finger to her lips, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. "As you and he are to me." He waved a hand, beckoning her to follow. "Come on, Lhi. You've been running all over the place today. You need to relax, and I have just the thing."

"Oh?" Lhiannon asked, reaching for Anders' outstretched hand; he then tucked her arm in his and began to lead her through the Vigil. "Just where are you taking me?"

A grin crossed Anders' face, his look full of good humor. "Outside. Some of us have decided to have a little fun tonight before the big fun begins tomorrow. Practice does make perfect."

Lhiannon sighed wearily. "Anders, I'm getting pretty tired. I had the Sister to deal with today. I haven't even seen Loghain, I've been running so much…"

"Not to worry, my dear Lhi," Anders grinned, opening a rear door to the Vigil and leading her out to the training grounds. As they rounded a corner of the Vigil, Lhiannon could see a bonfire burning, a number of figures gathered around it both standing and sitting on what appeared to be small logs turned upright. Oghren was speaking with another dwarf from Garavel's contingent of soldiers, the two of them passing a dwarven flask between them no doubt full of their vile libation. Nathaniel stood talking with Cris and Garavel, each holding tankards in their hands that they were filling from a barrel nearby.

On the other side of the fire, a large, lithe figure stood slightly apart from the others, raising a tankard briefly to his lips before returning his contemplative gaze to the fire. If one had witnessed this figure for the first time, one would say the figure looked bored or perhaps looked like they wanted to be anywhere but here.

Lhiannon felt a smile come to her face at the sight of Loghain on the other side of the fire. He looked up as he sensed her, the harsh planes of his face softening as his eyes met hers. He gave her a small nod as she smiled at him. A soldier from the Vigil's contingent appeared before her and Anders, thrusting cool tankards of ale into their hands. She took a draw from hers, a small sigh escaping her lips as the cool ale danced across her tongue.

"Ah, I feel you relaxing already," Anders said after taking a drink, a smug grin crossing his face as he led her over to where Loghain stood. "I believe I have found your lady, my lord."

"Indeed," Loghain replied, a smirk crossing his face as Lhiannon and Anders stood before him. She made to move to Loghain's side when Anders clamped down on her hand, pulling her back, a small bit of ale sloshing out of her tankard.

"Before I turn you over to your betrothed," Anders began, a wicked smile on his face, "I believe a merry dance is in order to further ease your nerves..."

Lhiannon felt her face blanch. "Anders, you know I don't dance well, especially your 'merry' dances."

"Oh, come on Lhi, I won't let you break your nose this time."

"I beg your pardon?" Loghain asked, his face nonplussed as he looked between Anders and Lhiannon.

Lhiannon glared at Anders, trying to look annoyed but the slight upward tug of her lips gave her away. "Bringing that up again, are you?"

"Would one of you mages kindly let on what it is you're talking about?" Loghain grumbled. He could see, even in the dim light, Lhiannon's cheeks stain a bright red. He chuckled lightly, earning an exasperated scoff from her.

"Well, that _is_ quite a story," Anders began, grinning mischievously as he watched Lhiannon's blush continue to creep up her face. "When we were at Kinloch Hold, I attempted to teach Lhiannon how to dance; it was a fast, saucy little number..."

"That almost got me killed."

Anders rolled his eyes dramatically. "You were _not_ 'almost killed'."

"Your dancing caused me to break my nose! I could have suffocated! Or drowned in my own blood!"

Loghain's brows furrowed as held up a hand to pause Andes' retort. "You broke your nose?"

"Maker's red ass," Lhiannon whined, glaring at a mischievously grinning Anders. "Yes, I tripped over my own feet..."

"And did a face plant onto the floor..."

"...breaking my nose in the process."

"Which I did heal quite nicely," Anders added, running a finger lightly down Lhiannon's nose. "Some of my best work."

Loghain leaned forward to examine Lhiannon's nose, his eyes narrowing as he studied her profile. Lhiannon could feel the smugness rolling off him. "Mmm...yes. Very good indeed," he drawled.

"You're being mean," Lhiannon whined, elbowing Loghain as he stood next to her.

"Madam, I never said I was nice."

Anders took Lhiannon's hand, pulling her toward the fire and where some of the gathered men began to strum lyres and play drums and flutes. "Come on, Lhi, enough stalling; I'll be careful, I promise."

Loghain watched as a desperate plea crossed Lhiannon's face; he felt his lips curl upward in a pert grin. "It will do you good, my dear," he drawled, clearly not seeking to intervene.

"Is it too late to reconsider the contract signing?"

"Far too late," Loghain grinned as Anders led her away. He watched as Anders beckoned to the men playing the instruments, asking them to increase the tempo for his dance with Lhiannon. Loghain saw the fear and trepidation on Lhiannon's face and had to suppress another smirk; here was the woman who killed scores of darkspawn and an archdemon with barely a second thought, and she was still frightened over the thought of a simple dance.

The tempo of the music increased and with a swirl of robes, Anders began to move Lhiannon about on the other side of the fire, encouraging her with words of praise and advice. She kept looking down at her feet, which Anders would admonish her for with a cheeky grin. Her steps were slow and hesitant at first but as the moments passed, they gradually became more confident. Others gathered began to dance as well, in singles and pairs. The sounds of joyful music and laughter filled the area.

Another full tankard of ale appeared before Loghain, held in Varel's hand. Loghain reached out and accepted the drink, nodding thanks to Varel, who had Aura at his side.

"She is a gift," Varel said quietly as he nodded his head toward where Lhiannon danced with Anders, raising his tankard to his lips to take a drink as he pulled Aura closer. Loghain took a drink, watching as Lhiannon nearly tripped over her feet, her nervous laughter carrying through the grounds.

Loghain scowled slightly into his tankard, not particularly wishing to discuss openly his feelings, even with Varel; Loghain considered him a good man—perhaps even a friend—but there were some things he preferred to keep to himself. They all knew how he and Lhiannon felt about each other; Maker's breath, they would publicly declare such feelings tomorrow. Loghain was content with that and felt no need to further discuss the matter with anyone whose name was not Lhiannon Amell; soon to be Lhiannon Mac Tir.

"Indeed," Loghain finally agreed, his eyes finding Lhiannon once more. She looked radiant as she danced, the light of the fire playing off the highlights of her hair and making her skin glow as Anders spun her in circles around the fire.

Loghain heard Varel take a breath to continue, but before he could, he heard Lhiannon squeal in shock from the far side of the fire. He looked toward her, his body tensing at the shock in her voice.

"Oghren" she shouted, "I can't unsee that!" She covered her eyes, throwing her head back in laughter, Anders and some of the others nearby joining in with her.

"The pride of Orzammar is in the house!"

Loghain's eyes went momentarily wide before he scoffed in annoyance. The dwarf was dancing around the fire...naked. _Can that dammed dwarf do nothing sober? _Loghain made to move toward the drunken Oghren, scowling in anger at the dwarf's foolishness. Oghren continued to dance around the fire, bellowing dwarven drinking songs at the top of his lungs to the scoffs and laughter of those around him. Before Loghain could take a step, Varel held out a hand.

"I will take care of this. Find your lady."

Varel moved off toward Oghren, beckoning for several of the men to join him. "Find Oghren's pants; he'll be sleeping off his drunkenness in the prison tonight." Varel walked the short distance to where Oghren was dancing drunkenly, grasping the dwarf's arm to begin moving him toward the Vigil's prison.

"Hey, don't you know who I am? I piss ale and murder little boys…"

"'Who look at you wrong'," Varel finished, his voice exasperated. "Yes, we know Oghren. "

After Varel left to tend to Oghren, Loghain finished his ale, setting the empty tankard on a nearby log and moving to where Anders was dancing with Lhiannon. Her steps were becoming surer, her eyes not trained on her feet as much and her head thrown back in laughter. Anders slowed his steps and stopped as Loghain approached, a grin lighting up his pale features. His breath came easily whereas Lhiannon was slightly winded; the speed of the dance—though not as fast as Loghain has seen it performed before—left her breathless.

"I'd like to collect my lady now," Loghain said, nodding once as Anders bowed first to Loghain, then Lhiannon.

"It has been an honor to dance with you, my lady."

"At least you didn't break my nose."

As Loghain held his hand out, Anders gently maneuvered Lhiannon toward him before he bowed again with a flourish, moving off to where Nathaniel stood with Captain Garavel and Cris, their laughter as Anders approached ringing through the yard.

Loghain turned his attention back to the warm body before him, her hand reaching out to take his; she was looking up at him, her expression almost shy.

"Hello, Loghain."

"My dear."

"I can't believe this is the first time I've seen you alone today."

"We have both been busy," Loghain chuckled. "I cannot imagine why."

"Oh yes, tomorrow is just another day," Lhiannon snorted sarcastically. She then grinned, playfully slapping at his arm.

They watched the frolicking and dancing of their people, listening to the joyful music created by their soldiers. It had been a long time since such celebration overtook the Vigil, and Lhiannon was glad for it. She stepped closer to Loghain's side, resting her weight against him. He bore it easily, a hand slipping to the small of her back. After a moment, she brought a hand up to her face, trying to stifle a yawn that threatened to split her face in two.

"Perhaps we should retire," Loghain quietly suggested. "Though tomorrow will be a joyous day, it promises to be long." _With the night to be longer, _he said to himself, feeling the rising tide of want and desire surge through him. Though it had been hardly two weeks since they lived separately, it felt like a lifetime.

"I like that idea," Lhiannon said, allowing Loghain to guide her toward the Vigil, leaving the raucousness of the celebration behind. The darkened halls were nearly empty, their footsteps one of the few sounds to be heard inside the walls. Loghain guided Lhiannon to her temporary quarters, his hand at the small of her back. Tonight she would sleep here, her last night as Lhiannon Amell. Tomorrow she would return to their quarters as Lhiannon Mac Tir.

They reached the door to Lhiannon's room, both hesitant to part with the other, seeking a few minutes of solitude before separating for the evening. Loghain gathered Lhiannon in his arms, settling his forehead against hers, his eyes closed and braids brushing up against the sides of her face. They stood that way for some time, breathing in the scent of the other, hands gently resting on and caressing the other.

After several moments, Loghain brought his hands up to the sides of Lhiannon's face, gently cupping her cheeks as if she were made of the most delicate glass. He brought his lips to the skin of her forehead, gently pressing them against her flesh. With great reluctance, he pulled his lips away.

"I shall see you on the morrow," he said quietly. "Pleasant dreams."

As he began to pull away, Lhiannon held him fast, lifting up onto her toes and brushing her lips against the shell of his ear, her breath a warm breeze against his skin. She whispered four words in his ear before she turned away, entering her temporary quarters and giving him a mischievous smile as she shut the door.

Her words had nearly been his undoing, taking all of his will to not throw her onto the nearest bed—or even the floor—to ravage her. He held her words close, a mantra in his head that beat nearly as fast as his heart, racing almost as fast as his blood.

"_I ache for you._"

* * *

_Well, I think we can all guess what's coming up in the next chapter. :)_

_I wrote a one-shot this week called "Confidence." I also did a sketch for this chapter that's out on my dA page (http :/josielange .deviantart .com/#/ d3s1z8r). If you feel so inclined, check them out.  
_

_Special thanks go out to reviewers Enaid Aderyn, JackOfBladesX, Arsinoe, Aura of Darkness Night, cloud1004, Dante Alighieri (darn you and that bug you put into my ear!), naomis8329, Tyanilth, Shakespira, and Dark Chubb._

_Lots of love and hugs go out to Tyanilth, Shakespira, and Enaid Adeyrn for their unflagging support this week. You ladies rock!_

_And as always, thanks to all you readers who give me a few minutes of your day for my tale. Your support means a lot!  
_


	29. My Heart, My Soul, My Life, My Love

_Note: Part two of this chapter is written from Loghain's perspective. The first part of part three is from Lhiannon's. If it seems like it jumps backward a bit, that's why._

* * *

To those with business in Vigil's Keep this day, the one thing they found themselves amazed with was how the smell of spring flowers seemed to come from everywhere, a gentle scent of the brief Ferelden springtime. The entrance and audience halls were a riot of springtime colors, flowers of every shade of yellow, red, white, and blue in vases spread throughout the Vigil. A number of petals had fallen off their blooms to be crushed underfoot, contributing to the scent in the air.

Four servants walked through the halls of the Vigil, moving toward where the Warden Commander had spent the last couple of weeks before her wedding. Two of the servants carried buckets of water for her bath, one carried a meal, while the last carried a vase of springtime flowers and bath oils in a similar scent.

The brisk rapping on the door woke Lhiannon from her light sleep; a servant calling out to her from beyond. Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, Lhiannon rose and grabbed her light robe, belting it around her waist as she walked to the door, opening it to allow the servants entrance. She hurried and helped the servants carrying the water for her bath, ignoring their efforts to shoo her away. After a few moments of good natured bantering back and forth—and a threat to pull rank—Lhiannon finally acquiesced with a laugh, allowing the servants to complete their work.

When she was alone again, Lhiannon began to heat the water with her spells as she nibbled at her breakfast, seeking to smother the butterflies fluttering about her stomach with food and drink. The large vase of flowers the servants brought had a number of springtime blooms; Lhiannon lowered her nose to them and inhaled deeply, smiling at the gentle scent filling her nose.

After the water was the right temperature, Lhiannon lowered herself inside, sighing with content as the steaming, scented water covered her exposed skin. She let her mind drift as she settled deep into the tub, playing over the major events of the life she and Loghain had found and built together. It always amazed her how only a couple of short years ago, they were bitter enemies. Now they were about to wed; once again, the Maker's sense of humor was strange indeed.

Lhiannon's mind tried to drift back over the visit by Sister Nedra the day before, but she quashed it. She would _not_ think about the meddling of the Chantry, not today. She would _not_ let them win by allowing them to put a damper on their day. There would likely be plenty of opportunities to worry about their shenanigans in the near future; today would not be their day.

Lhiannon remained in the water, washing her hair and body with the fragrant oils and soaps until the water was tepid and her skin wrinkled and pale. She carefully pulled herself out of the tub, wrapping a large, fluffy towel around her body while a second swaddled her hair. When she was dry, she padded over to the small chest of clothes she brought with her, pulling her smallclothes and breast band from within. Slipping them on, she went to the window in her room and peered outside to ascertain the time. From the sun's position in the sky, it appeared to be late morning; the ceremony was not far off then, only a couple of hours at most. _Best hurry; I wouldn't want to be late for my own wedding._

Reaching into her clothes chest again, Lhiannon pulled out a pair of silk stockings and the lacy little garter that Leliana had given to her before she left for Orlais. Lhiannon sat on the edge of her bed, pulling the delicate silk stockings up her legs, securing them in place with the ribbons woven through a seam at the top. She rarely wore such things and the feel of the stockings on her bare skin was strange, yet exquisite and decadent. Her hand rasped slightly as she ran it over her stocking clad leg, marveling at the texture.

She picked up the lacy little garter from Leliana, sliding it up her leg so that it rested just below her knee. _Well, that would certainly be too easy for him_. With a mischievous grin, she pulled up her leg as far as it could comfortably go, several inches above her knee. It was a little snug, but it would be worth the look on Loghain's face when he found it.

Lhiannon was pulling a comb through her damp hair when a small knock sounded on her door. On the other side were Lillian and Katarina, a bundle in Lillian's arms that could only be Lhiannon's dress. With a smile, Lhiannon ushered them inside.

"Are you ready, Lhiannon?" Katarina asked, helping Lillian shake Lhiannon's dress out of the wrapper, hanging it on a hook mounted in the wall. Lhiannon watched as Lillian and Katarina skillfully shook out the dress, smoothing out any large creases so that they would not set into the fabric.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Lhiannon grinned. "I've been waiting for this day for a long, long time. Well, it seems like a long time."

"Then let's get you into that dress and ready for your lord," Lillian grinned, moving to gather Lhiannon's dress. Gathering the fabric gently, Lillian and Katarina lifted it up while Lhiannon ducked under it, the fabric sliding over her freshly bathed and scented skin. Lhiannon's head finally popped out of the neck of the dress, her hair a disheveled mop on her head. Lhiannon blew a puff of air out, lifting one of the strands of hair up and away from her face, bringing a giggle from Katarina. Gently guiding Lhiannon with her hands, Katarina turned her around, lacing up the dress and tying it into an intricate knot and two bows that would not slip loose throughout the day.

Together, Lillian, Katarina and Lhiannon smoothed out the skirt and oversleeves before pulling the small loops at the ends of the undersleeves over the middle finger on each of Lhiannon's hands, assuring that the sleeves would also stay in place and not ride up as the oversleeves moved.

Lillian then moved Lhiannon to a small stool at her vanity, pulling locks of hair at her temples back into small braids and securing them at the back of her head. When she was finished, she reached for the silver diadem that Leliana had given Lhiannon before she left for Orlais, taking it from Katarina's outstretched hand and settling it onto Lhiannon's head with a smile.

"There," Katarina said, her voice pleased as she and Lillian backed away from the mirror, "now you're ready."

Lhiannon studied herself in the mirror, turning from side to side to see her profile, to see the way the dress fit and draped on her body and the gleaming diadem on her head. She could hardly believe her own reflection; it was _really_ her, and she was _really_ getting married.

Once she was satisfied with her reflection, Lillian and Katarina gave her a light hug—so as not to muss her appearance—and moved off toward the audience hall. Lhiannon followed them as far as the small study near the audience hall, where she would wait until the ceremony began. Nervousness began to set in as she waited. She paced back and forth in an effort to burn off the nervous energy, fighting the urge to play with the earrings in her ears or wring her hands together as she walked. She avoided brushing her clammy hands on her dress, not wanting to leave unsightly marks on the delicate fabric. She was nearly ready to call for a shot of brandy or whiskey to calm her nerves before she heard a gentle rap on the door, startling her briefly.

Lhiannon opened the door, finding Anora on the other side, looking resplendent in a bright yellow gown, as bright as the sun in high summer. Lhiannon's stomach flipped in nervousness as she moved from the doorway, allowing Anora to enter before quickly closing the door behind, making sure she would not be seen by Loghain should he happen to walk by. She did not want to tempt the old fishwives tale about the groom seeing the bride before the wedding being a harbinger of foul luck.

"Lhiannon, you look beautiful," Anora said, her gaze falling over Lhiannon's gown. "I thought blue would be a superb color for you."

"Your Majesty—Anora—the gown is perfect," Lhiannon smiled, smoothing the skirt with her hands, luxuriating in the decadent feel of the fabric against her skin. "Thank you for all your assistance."

"It was my pleasure. I only wish to see my father, and you, happy." Anora approached Lhiannon, holding her arms open to her. The Queen's face and posture were slightly awkward, but softened as Lhiannon chuckled and embraced her warmly. Anora briefly stiffened in her arms, but then relaxed and allowed herself to be embraced in return for a moment. Anora cleared her throat, stepping back and smoothing the fabric of her dress over her protruding stomach. She then reached out and helped Lhiannon smooth the skirt of her gown once more.

"I won't take more of your time as I'm sure you would like a few quiet moments alone before the festivities begin. I shall see you soon. I am proud to welcome you as family," Anora said, moving toward the door with a cheeky grin on her face. "Mother."

"Not you too!"

Anora's laughter was light as she passed through the door, pausing in her move to close it as footsteps approached the study from the hallway. Lhiannon heard a soft "Pardon me, Your Majesty," before Jowan passed through the doorway. Lhiannon saw that he was dressed in his best mage robe, holding a bouquet of flowers at arm's length. He looked rather uncomfortable with the prospect of walking through the Vigil with a large bunch of spring blooms, especially having just crossed paths with the Queen of Ferelden in the hallway.

He entered the study, closing the door behind him and awkwardly handing Lhiannon the bouquet as a strange grimace crossed his face. "Samuel found me in the hallway and asked me to give these to you." As Lhiannon took the blooms, Jowan was overcome by a fit of sneezing, his eyes turning red while they and his nose began to run profusely. Lhiannon reached out, casting what healing spell she knew on him. She grinned as he looked at her gratefully, the redness in and around his eyes fading as she watched. "Now I see the reason for the bizarre look on your face."

"I'm allergic to most flowers," Jowan shrugged sheepishly, his voice slightly nasal as he wiped at his eyes with a small kerchief he pulled from a pocket in his robe. "That's why I never learned how to make healing or other potions; I'm allergic to a number of the plants needed to make them."

Lhiannon's eyes widened in concern. "Will you be all right, Jowan? There are flowers everywhere!"

"And so is Anders. As long as I don't touch them or stay too close to them, I'll be fine." He paused for a moment, his kerchief at his face as he waited to make sure his sneezes were at bay. "You look great, Lhi."

She smiled shyly, looking down at the floor before meeting Jowan's eyes again. Lhiannon looked at the bouquet of flowers she held. Samuel had shied away from the blue flowers, instead picking lilacs of white and pink, mixing in sweet pea and even a few calla lilies. She brought the bouquet up to her face, her nose gently touching the silky petals as she breathed in their scent.

The door swung open and Varel poked his head into the room. "Commander? Lhiannon? Are you ready?"

Lhiannon looked up from her bouquet, seeing Varel's head just inside the doorway, the door shielding his body from her. "Is everything ready? Is Loghain already there?"

"Yes," Varel chuckled, a wide smile on his face. "He's waiting for you."

"We'll be right along, Varel."

With a nod, Varel disappeared from the doorway as Jowan held out his arm for Lhiannon. She took it with a smile, allowing Jowan to maneuver her out into the hallway and toward the audience hall of the Vigil.

As they walked the halls, Lhiannon could hear the low murmuring of voices and the light sounds of musical instruments being played. She could smell the various flowers decorating the Vigil and the savory aromas of the food being prepared for the wedding feast. Her heart fluttered in her chest, her excitement growing with every step she took toward the audience hall and where Loghain awaited her.

"Thank you, Jowan."

Jowan turned to look down at Lhiannon, his brow falling in confusion. "What for, Lhi?"

"For spending time with me today. For walking me to the hall." Lhiannon looked up to Jowan, a smirk on her face. "For braving all the flowers."

Jowan chuckled. "Ah, it was nothing."

Jowan and Lhiannon rounded a corner near the audience hall, seeing Anders pacing nearby, a slight look of nervousness on his face.

"There you two are," Anders exclaimed, coming forward to place a hand on each of their shoulders, looking down on Lhiannon with a wink and a grin. "I was hoping you hadn't reconsidered. As much as a grump Loghain can be, he's not so bad. When he's not scowling that is."

"Or being generally taciturn and grouchy," Jowan added with a smirk.

Lhiannon gave both mages a swat with her free hand. "If I didn't know the two of you better, I'd say you were both jealous."

"Eeww, no!" Jowan exclaimed, a comical grimace crossing his face. "You're like my sister…there's no way I could, you know…I think I threw up in my mouth a little bit."

Lhiannon scoffed. "Thanks a lot, Jowan."

Anders favored Lhiannon with a knowing smile. "We had our fun in our younger days, didn't we, Lhi?"

"That we did," Lhiannon agreed with a nod.

Jowan gave Lhiannon a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll catch up with you after the ceremony, Lhi. I love you, my friend."

"And I, you, Jowan."

Anders and Lhiannon watched Jowan move into the audience hall, whispering to Varel that Lhiannon was just outside and ready to begin the ceremony. Anders reached for Lhiannon's hand, wrapping it around his arm as he prepared to walk her into the audience hall and to Loghain's side.

"I'm very happy for you, Lhi," Anders began, placing his hand atop hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You know that I will always be here for you; you're my family."

"I know, and you're family to me as well." Lhiannon paused for a moment, her hand squeezing Anders' once more. "We've been through much, you and I; we grew up together. We laughed and loved together; worried and cried together." She turned a misty eye toward Anders, seeing his own eyes gleam brightly. "You will always command a special place in my heart."

"Lhi, stop it," Anders chided thickly, a smirk on his face as he gently slapped her hand. "You'll make me blush and weep like a little girl and that simply won't do. I'm supposed to look ravishing as I walk you down the aisle, not a red eyed, red faced mess."

"You're not allowed to look better than the bride on her wedding day."

Anders grinned. "I can certainly try though."

The sound of flutes and mandores filled the air not long after Varel disappeared into the main hall. The sound was gentle, yet festive, filling the hall with the sounds of joyousness. Taking a deep breath, Lhiannon turned to Anders. "I'm ready when you are."

"Then let's get you married off."

* * *

Loghain stood at the front of the audience hall, Lhiannon's chair of command behind him on the dais. His formal clothes felt strange, similar to yet completely different from his customary plate or studded leather armors. He wore a ceremonial collar of chain mail, draping over his shoulders to fall over his upper chest and back. It had been years since he wore chain armor of any type, having kept his armor selections between dark, studded leathers and heavy plate armor. A dark leather jerkin and soft tunic lay beneath the chain, while ceremonial studded leather gauntlets adorned his forearms. Snug leather breeches covered his legs, with studded leather greaves matching the gauntlets covering his lower legs.

Anora and Alistair sat at the very front of the proceedings, as per their station as Ferelden royalty. Anora's stunning gown of yellow cut to show off her advanced pregnancy. He caught her eye and she gave him a smile, one of those rare smiles when she was simply his little girl and not Queen of Ferelden. Loghain felt his pride swell at the sight of his beloved daughter and the life she carried within her. At her side, Alistair wore a short leather jerkin, brown over a tunic of dark red and yellow, with rich brown breeches beneath. Emblazoned on the front of his jerkin was the heraldry of the Kingdom of Ferelden, intricately stitched with fine thread in bold colors, likely costing more than many average Fereldens earned in several months. Loghain watched as Alistair took Anora's hand, his thumb gently stroking her fair skin.

The Grey Wardens sat amongst the other guests, among them Captain Garavel, Cauthrien, Cousland, the shopkeeper Lillian and her employee Katarina and…Wade and Herren? Loghain's brow lifted in wry amusement; while Wade looked giddy, Herren simply appeared bored. Loghain decided that he may later tell Herren to either hide his apparent boredom, or remove himself from the hall; he would not see this day marred by Herren's acerbic attitude.

Varel appeared at the back of the hall, moving up the aisle created by benches brought into the hall for guests to sit upon. He too wore ceremonial armor, mostly studded leather, as Loghain did. As Varel took his place at the head of the hall, he nodded toward where the small group of musicians sat. They readied their instruments and began to play, a light and joyous tune that reflected the atmosphere in the hall, taking the intangible feeling and putting into a form the senses could more fully comprehend. The assembled guests stood, heads craning toward the back of the hall to catch a glimpse of the Warden Commander in her finery.

Loghain watched as Anders entered the hall, Lhiannon situated on his left arm. He took a sharp inhalation, his breath nearly taken away by her radiance. They rounded the last corner of benches in the hall, facing the front, where they paused for a moment before moving forward. He watched her eyes as they cast about the room, skimming through the assembled guests.

At last, he caught her eye; she smiled broadly as his gaze wandered over her. Anora had done well, choosing a simple dress of Ferelden design, the blue color emphasizing the darkness of her eyes. The fabric gently swayed about her hips and legs as Anders slowly led her toward him. The bright light in the hall—streaming sunlight accompanied by the light of wall sconces—winked off the silver diadem on her brow, casting small rays of light that moved along the far walls with her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lhiannon neared the front of the hall, turning to give the King and Queen a courtesy and smile before Anders accompanied her on her last few steps as Lhiannon Amell. Loghain held out his hand, beckoning his bride to his side.

* * *

Anders stepped forward, leading Lhiannon slowly through the door to the hall. It looked so much brighter to than it ever had, the colorful wall hangings seeming to glow with a light of their own. They reached the main aisle that had been created in the hall, Anders turning her so that they both faced forward. Lhiannon instantly began to scan the faces of the guests gathered, searching...

Her gaze finally found Loghain at the head of the hall, all her perceptions narrowing so that her world consisted of the two blue eyes that held hers enthralled. Were there others gathered here, or was it simply the two of them? It did not matter; it was only Loghain that she sought, only him that she looked for. She had a vague knowledge of others watching her, fragmented whispers about her dress, or hair, or how happy she looked. Their words were meaningless in her ears, a whisper in the background not unlike a breeze through the leaves of a tree.

She barely comprehended them. Of all the eyes on her at this moment, the only ones she cared about were his.

As they approached the dais where Varel and Loghain waited, Lhiannon paused as she and Anders neared the King and Queen. With a wide smile, Lhiannon curtseyed, Anders bowing at her side as he acknowledged the monarchs.

Lhiannon rose to her full height, Anders waiting to take her the last few steps to Loghain's side. When they reached the front, Lhiannon saw Anders give Loghain a nod in greeting, which Loghain returned before he held out his hand to her. Before she could take it, Anders leaned down, gently placing a kiss on one cheek, then the other.

"Congratulations, Lhi. I love you, my dear."

"I love you, Andy."

Lhiannon turned back to a grinning Loghain and his outstretched hand as Anders stepped back and took the empty seat behind the King and Queen. She held out her hand as she returned his smile, feeling Loghain's large, calloused, and warm hand gently encircle hers, threading her arm through his as he guided her forward the last few steps so that they stood side by side before Varel. A small table stood before them covered by a festive cloth, a dish there holding her and Loghain's blue silverite bands. An empty glass vessel stood on the table, two other vessels standing on either side containing two different colored sands.

The seneschal gave Lhiannon a wink and smile before clasping his hands together in front of him. He lifted his chin, his deep, rich voice filling the hall easily.

"I was humbled and honored to be asked to speak here today," he began, his firm and gentle gaze moving between Lhiannon and Loghain and those gathered behind them. "It is an honor and a pleasure to preside over this happy occasion uniting my commanders—and friends—in marriage. It is one of the more pleasurable demands of my station, one that I rarely have the opportunity to participate in."

Varel's gaze returned to Lhiannon and Loghain. "May your days be filled with joy, friendship, and love. May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past. May your hands be forever clasped in friendship, your hearts bound forever in love. May you each be the sword and shield that defends the other. The Maker has blessed you both and may he continue to do so, now and in the beyond."

Varel reached for the small dish holding their rings, indicating that Lhiannon and Loghain should turn to face each other. Varel took Lhiannon's bouquet of flowers, setting it on the table before he nodded to Loghain. Loghain reached for Lhiannon's left hand with his, gently pulling it to him as he plucked her ring from the dish. He positioned it at the tip of her finger, locking his eyes onto hers as he spoke.

"With this ring, I give you my vow. I give to you that which is mine to freely bestow. I give you my heart. I give you my soul. Your name is as a prayer to my lips and shall be spoken now and beyond. Let none rend our vows asunder. As my vow is engraved in my heart, so it shall be in this ring. _My heart shall always be yours_."

As he spoke, he slid the ring on her finger, her eyes fixed onto his. She looked at him with a depth of love that sent his heart fluttering and his soul flying joyously. He gave her a smile; not the cold one he rarely used in public or even the indulgent smile he gave to Anora. This was a genuine smile of love, a smile of peace and contentment. He squeezed her hand gently, suddenly reluctant to let it go.

Once her ring was returned to her finger, Lhiannon gently grasped Loghain's large hand, picking up his ring and positioning it at the tip of his finger. She brought her eyes to his, seeing in their icy depths a warmth and tenderness she had not witnessed before matched by the slow smile on his face. _This is it; it's really happening! _As she slipped the ring onto his finger, she spoke her vow.

"With this ring I give you my vow. I give to you my heart and soul. In our love, we are united as one, now and beyond. Let us meet again, to know and remember the bond of love between us. Let none rend our vows asunder. As my vow is engraved in my heart, so it shall be in this ring. _You are my heart, my soul, my life, my love_."

Loghain's fingers curled around hers, turning and moving her toward Varel and where he stood behind the small table on the dais. Loghain released her hand as they stood at opposite ends of the table, facing each other with the glass vessels between them. At Varel's nod, they reached out and picked up their vessels of sand. The sand in the vessel in front of Lhiannon was almost white; Loghain's had been dyed a brilliant green.

"The sands of time have been used to create this vessel," Varel began, his voice carrying to the far corners of the room, "individual grains melted and joined together as one, never again to be separated into individual grains. Lhiannon and Loghain each hold a vessel of colored sand, representing their lives to this day." With an indication of his hand, Lhiannon began to pour sand into the empty vessel, pausing as Loghain poured some of his own sand inside, creating two separate layers at the bottom of the vessel. With an indication of Varel's hands, both Lhiannon and Loghain poured their sand into the vessel, the colors blending as the grains of sand met.

"As Lhiannon and Loghain pour their sand into the vessel, the individual grains combine, symbolizing their union. What was once two separate vessels and individuals has now become one. They are as the grains of sand; joined as one. As the grains can no longer be separated into their individual containers, so shall be your marriage."

Varel stepped away from behind the table, indicating for Lhiannon and Loghain to move to stand in front of him. Loghain held out his hand and Lhiannon slipped hers inside, allowing Loghain to guide her to stand in front of Varel. They faced each other with hands intertwined, eyes seeking and finding the other as Varel spoke.

"Your Majesties, lords and ladies, family and friends; it is my honor and pleasure to present to you the new Arl and Arlessa of Amaranthine, Loghain and Lhiannon Mac Tir."

As the sound of clapping filled the audience chamber, Loghain drew Lhiannon forward, one hand holding hers as the other tilted her chin gently upward. For the first time that most everyone in the hall had seen, they witnessed the taciturn new Arl of Amaranthine lower his lips to Lhiannon's, his kiss one of tenderness and passion that most of them had not known possible.

Lhiannon wrapped her arms around Loghain's neck, her perception narrowing to the feel of his lips dancing across hers. She broke the kiss, her lips trailing across Loghain's cheek to his ear.

"I love you, husband."

Loghain's arms wrapped around Lhiannon's waist, pulling her close as she whispered into his ear. He turned his lips to her cheek, his breath a warm tickle against the shell of her ear.

"As I love you, my wife."

* * *

The banquet that followed the ceremony was both festive and a blur to Lhiannon, who could not believe that the man seated at her side, tenderly touching her at every opportunity, was now her husband. Loghain's hand was at her waist as their guests greeted them, offering congratulations and good wishes. He held her hand as the King and Queen spoke, toasting Lhiannon and Loghain's good fortune and wishing them many years of happiness. As they ate their wedding feast of pork and beef, Loghain's leg brushed up against Lhiannon's, gently moving against her. And when the time came for them to dance for the first time as husband and wife, Loghain let her out onto the dance floor, his strong arms pulling her close and his whispers of encouragement chasing away any apprehension she may have had.

Sometime after the end of the ceremony and reception, after all the eating and drinking and dancing, Loghain guided Lhiannon through the darkened halls of the Vigil on her exultant return to their chambers as his wife. He paused long enough to tell the guards posted at the foot of the stairs leading to their private floor that they were not to be disturbed unless the next archdemon reared its head and began dancing on the roof of the Vigil. Once they reached the door to their chambers, he withdrew his key from a small pocket, opening the door before standing aside to allow Lhiannon first entry.

"Welcome home, my Lady Mac Tir."

"I'm glad to be home, my Lord Mac Tir."

Lhiannon passed through the doorway into her darkened office, listening to Loghain quickly run the bolt behind him. She giggled deep in her throat as Loghain pulled her close from behind, his lips ghosting along her neck and up to the lobe of her ear, the tip of his tongue running along the skin. She shivered in his arms, the heat of want building within her, an ache of unrelieved desire pounding through her core. His own laughter was low in his throat, his own want clear not only in the raggedness of his breathing, but also in the erection pressing into her backside as he clutched her to him. One arm was snaked around her waist while the other gently squeezed one of her breasts.

"Do you intend to consummate our marriage on the floor of my office?" Lhiannon asked, her voice rising to a near breathless squeak as his lips continued their work, his teeth gently nipping the skin near the place her neck met her shoulder. "Or perhaps my desk? It would be embarrassing to have to call Anders in to heal any...injuries."

Loghain's deep chuckle tickled her skin, a spike of heat growing more intense within her core as the vibrations of his laugh echoed through her. "No; I intend to take you in a proper bed."

Lhiannon pressed and wiggled her hips against Loghain, his groan of want going directly to her core, further heating her blood. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"I have missed hearing you beg for me. It is what you deserve for leaving me the way you did last night."

Lhiannon giggled lusty and low, twisting in Loghain's grasp so that she faced him, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. Her fingers buried themselves deep in his hair as his lips found hers, his tongue running along her bottom lip before she opened her mouth to him. His kiss was deep and smothering, his hand at the back of her head holding her face to his, fingers pressed firmly into her flesh as he held her.

Their lips parted moments later, both of them panting breathlessly and lips reddened from their passion. With a smirk, Loghain scooped Lhiannon up and into his arms, her breath tickling against the skin of his neck as he carried her through her office and their living quarters, setting her gently on her feet again once they reached the bedchamber.

As his lips once more settled onto hers, she felt his hands move up her back, seeking the ties to her dress. She felt gentle tugging on the strings, and after several moments of increasingly insistent tugging, Loghain pulled his lips away from hers.

"Maker's breath, how the bloody hell did you tie your dress?"

Lhiannon chuckled, turning around so that Loghain could see the knot. "Is this better?"

"I should just cut the damned things and be done with them."

The mirror of her vanity stood before her, their reflections clear even in the wan light of their bedchamber. She watched in the mirror and laughed as she felt Loghain's hands working the knot again, his face leaning close so he could better see the knot. As he worked the knot, she looked around their bedchamber, seeing a vase of roses on the table next to the bed and a vase of lilacs on her vanity. Next to the vase on the table, she saw a small wooden box, something she had not noticed in the past. She opened her mouth to ask about it, but before she could she felt the laces at the back of her dress loosen, Loghain's large hands pushing the dress off her shoulders as his lips found her bare skin once more. Lhiannon watched his reflection in the mirror, rational thought quickly abandoned as his teeth brushed her skin. He explored her flesh with his lips and tongue as if tasting her bare skin for the first time. She settled her hands on his hips, holding him to her. After a few moments, his lips were at the shell of her ear, his breath brushing the flesh. She shivered at him looming over her, watching his reflection as his lips brushed her ear and his hand rose to her face, gently closing her eyes.

"Wait here a moment, dearest wife. Keep your eyes closed."

Lhiannon made a noise between a giggle and a groan, her desire for him pounding in her blood so that she moaned in frustration when his touch left her. She heard Loghain take a few steps away, the solid thump of chain on wood as he must have removed his ceremonial collar. Lhiannon stood where she was, the heat for Loghain burning through her blood as she waited for him to return. She heard him approach a moment later and sensed him just behind her. Something moved in front of her and she felt the cool touch of metal on her chest and neck.

"Open your eyes."

The first thing Lhiannon saw when she opened her eyes was the glint of silver resting on her chest. Loghain had placed a simple silverite necklace around her neck where a small green stone wrapped in silver wire served as a pendant. Lhiannon brought a hand up to the pendant, running a finger over the wire wrapped stone. She gasped slightly as she touched it.

"My father made this pendant for my mother and presented it to her on their wedding day."

"It was your mother's?"

"The pendant, yes. The chain is new. And now it is yours."

Lhiannon turned in Loghain's arms, her eyes moist with the significance of the gift. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

Loghain's eyes met hers, his hand cradling her cheek gently. As his lips met hers again, hands began to fuss with clasps, ties, and buttons; kisses and caresses adorning each bit of newly uncovered skin, a slow rediscovery of the wonders and secrets their bodies held. Their kisses became more passionate, a fever roaring through their blood and in the taint between them.

"What's this?"

Lhiannon reluctantly pulled her lips away from Loghain's chest as his fingers found the lacy garter on Lhiannon's leg. He slipped a finger between the lace and Lhiannon's stocking, gently squeezing her leg as his lips wandered along her skin once more.

"Leliana…oh! Gave it to me…"

"Mmm, how scandalous." Loghain knelt before Lhiannon, his lips trailing down her skin, teasing the pulsing nub at the apex of Lhiannon's thighs before his teeth found the small garter, pulling the tiny lace on it and loosening it. He gently pulled it off her leg, his large hands rasping along the silken stockings covering Lhiannon's legs. Giving it a cursory, yet approving glance, he flipped the garter over his shoulder and into the shadows of the room around them.

As he stood once more, Loghain picked up Lhiannon, her breasts pushing against his chest as her stocking clad legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His hardened length pulsed between them as their kissing grew more passionate, their breath more ragged. He laid her on their soft bed, pressing his body against hers, growling into her mouth as she clutched him tightly to her. He reared back on his knees, lifting Lhiannon's leg to remove the stocking. As the skin of her leg was revealed, Loghain's lips trailed along the inside of her ankle, up the curve of her calf to her knee, slowly running up the inside of her thigh. She closed her eyes in ecstasy as she shivered and moaned beneath him, his lips briefly suckling her nub before moving on to the other leg and removing the stocking there, his slow kisses torturous. Desire built within her, a tightening coil that begged for release.

The bed shifted beneath her slightly and Lhiannon opened her eyes to see Loghain leaning over the edge of the bed, pulling a red rosebud from the vase next to their bed. He broke off the stem not far down from the top, making sure there were no thorns present. He turned back toward Lhiannon, running the soft bud of the flower down the skin near the side of her face. The silken softness of the rosebud caused her to inhale sharply as Loghain ran it down her bare skin, circling the raised nipple of her breast, teasing it with a silken touch.

"Why are you torturing me so?" Lhiannon moaned, her breath a sharp gasp as Loghain lowered his mouth to her nipple, suckling the tender flesh and gently nipping it with his teeth. She buried her hands in his hair, soft as corn silk as her fingers ran through the locks.

"I want to savor you, my wife," he said, running the rosebud over the scar on her chest before circling sensitive flesh of her other nipple. She gasped and writhed beneath him, her hands desperately clutching at the sheets on the bed. She saw him lift his head, a mischievous glint in his icy eyes. "And I missed how you beg for me."

"You would make me beg for you on our wedding day?"

"After what you said to me last night? Why would I not?" Loghain asked, his lips and tongue brushing the inside of Lhiannon's thighs along with the rosebud, causing her to gasp. She felt his grin against her skin as he purposely avoided the small bit of flesh that screamed for his undivided attention. She tried to move her wanting flesh toward his teasing mouth, but Loghain moved away with a deep chuckle.

"Take me now, husband," Lhiannon growled, pulling him back up so that she could blister his lips with a searing kiss. "Take me as your wife. Fill me; my body is yours." She raised her hips beneath him, pressing herself into Loghain in silent demand as she sealed his mouth with hers. He broke the kiss, looking into Lhiannon's eyes with mirth.

"That's a demand, not begging, my dear wife" Loghain grinned as he pressed the hardened tip of his erection into her nub, moving his hips against her until she moaned and writhed beneath him again.

"Begging includes the words 'please'…" He leaned down and suckled her breast, her back arching to push it toward him. "…And 'need'…" he continued, his mouth moving to the other breast, his tongue flicking across the hardened nipple. He suckled her breast, his hands teasing her body with smooth strokes until she was mewling desperately beneath him. He pulled away from her, her whimper of frustration driving the heat within him to searing heights. He ran his calloused hands over her body, lowering his mouth to her abdomen, his tongue teasingly close to her mound, the smell of her musk enveloping him. His hands found their way to her thighs, his fingers playing along the wet folds of her skin as she whimpered and cried out.

"Loghain, I ache for you," she moaned, writhing beneath him in an effort to find her release. "I _need_ to have you…"

Loghain chuckled low and deep in his throat. "Well, that's not _exactly_ begging, but if my wife wishes to be taken, I shall indulge her." He thrust herself deep inside her, his groan of pleasure matched by her gasp and the arching of her back beneath him. He rocked above her, withdrawing and plunging within her, claiming her and possessing her as his new wife as she hooked her legs within his, possessing and claiming him as her husband. When he spent himself inside her clenching walls, her name was a mantra on his lips, his own name spoken in her breathless voice driving his release more strongly, his last thrusts more forceful than those before. He settled his weight onto her, their racing hearts and heaving chests beginning to slow in unison.

Lhiannon watched as Loghain moved to lay beside her moments later, the rosebud in his hand once more. He reached up, tucking the stem of the rose behind one of the mussed braids in Lhiannon's hair. His hand lingered on her cheek, cupping it gently as he gazed at her intently.

"Copper for your thoughts," Lhiannon prompted, turning her face into his hand.

Loghain's fingers gently stroked the skin of her cheek. "I'm wondering what I could have possibly done to be favored so by the Maker."

Reaching up, Lhiannon brought Loghain's face down to hers, gently pressing her lips against the skin of his forehead. "I love you, Loghain Mac Tir."

Gathering her into his arms, Loghain returned her kiss, his hand gently caressing her face. "As I love you, Lhiannon Mac Tir."

* * *

_A/N:Geez, finally. It's about time. Personally, I blame the muse; she kept taking side roads, but we did eventually get here, right? They made it._

_For their vows, I found inspiration from several different sources: Gaelic, Celtic, __Irish, and pagan vows and blessings. I remembered a sand ceremony from a wedding I attended years ago and it sounded so much better than a unity candle. So, sand it was._

_The next chapter takes us to see how Teagan, Raelyn, and Sigrun are faring out in the Bannorn and southern Ferelden. Speaking of the next chapter, it may be delayed a few days. I have to return to Minneapolis for work again next week...training and "team building" (watching the St. Paul Saints play baseball; it will feel weird to root for a team that isn't my beloved Detroit Tigers). I'm not sure how much writing I'll get done. Chapter 30, as of now, is about 65% done. Hopefully, this will be the last trip to Minneapolis for awhile. I need to crack the whip at the muse...I need my cushion of chapters back!  
_

_I wrote another one-shot this week...another Cheeky Monkeys challenge (Tyanilth threw down the gauntlet again and Shakespira and I picked it up). My one-shot is called "Coming Home" and Shakespira's is called "The Eyes of the Beholder." Both are full of smutty goodness. Shakespira's melted my smart phone; it's nothing more than a smoking lump of charred metal and plastic. ;) Thanks to all of you that reviewed them!  
_

_Special thanks to reviewers Shakespira, Cloud1004, Aura of Darkness Night, JackOfBladesX, Tyanilth, Arsinoe, Enaid Aderyn, __Dark Chubb, and Dante Alighieri__. You all are the best and I very much appreciate your time and comments._

_Thanks to those of you who have favorited myself or the story this week as well...and to you quiet lurkers. Thanks for all your support!  
_


	30. The Words of the Arl

The soft patter of rain on the walls and windows woke Loghain from his easy slumber. The subdued light coming through the windows revealed the soft, warm body of his new wife curled close to him. Her lashes were spread across her pale cheeks and a finger reverently touched the pendant resting around her neck. Her deep, regular breaths tickled the skin of Loghain's chest. Normally an early riser, he was reluctant to move for the moment, not wanting to wake her from her peaceful slumber. A small smile crossed his face as he watched her sleep. Finding himself a married man again was a surprise, albeit a welcome one. Marriage was a part of life Loghain thought behind him after the death of his wife years before. Even before Celia had died, Loghain had a mistress in Ferelden herself; a jealous paramour his beloved Ferelden was, demanding all of his time and then demanding more. It had, to an extent, driven a wedge between him and Celia as well as him and Anora. Loghain had had little choice but to let Ferelden dictate a significant part of his life, so great was his love for country and his sense of duty. _No longer_, Loghain thought to himself_, it is time to let others bear the largest yoke, though I will always carry a burden myself._

Loghain lightly pressed his lips to Lhiannon's forehead, holding her close as she stirred briefly and burrowed herself in closer to Loghain's chest, a small murmur of contentment passing her lips. Loghain lay back against the pillows as she settled into a deep sleep once more. He and Lhiannon would have this day to themselves, handing off their duties to the other Wardens so they could enjoy their first full day together as husband and wife; the next day would see them on the road to Denerim and back to their normal duties and worries. Though Loghain felt a prickle of guilt at such unaccustomed leisure, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift along the currents of sleep once more, Lhiannon's body beside him a warm comfort.

Awareness came to Lhiannon a short time later in the gentle whisper of Loghain's relaxed breathing and the slow thrumming of his heartbeat against her. She opened her eyes to see the small smattering of hair across Loghain's broad, muscular chest. A shadow of stubble graced the skin of Loghain's face, a small lock of his hair caught in the wiry stubble. One of his arms was draped over her waist as if even in sleep, he had to touch her in some fashion. A rumble rippled through Lhiannon's stomach, reminding her of how little she had eaten in the last couple of days. Now that the wedding was behind them, Lhiannon felt simply ravenous, prepared to devour the entire food stores of the Vigil in her hunger.

Slowly wriggling out from under Loghain's arm, Lhiannon rose from the bed, pulling on her smallclothes before donning a tunic and trousers. Food—and plenty of it—was her number one priority at the moment. She quietly slipped out of their chambers, moving through the halls of the Vigil toward the dining area, As she neared the dining hall, Lhiannon could hear her Wardens speaking, some of them with gruffer voices than usual. No doubt their gruff voices were a result of too much drink the evening before. As she rounded the corner and entered the room, she was greeted by the catcalls of her Wardens, knowing that today she was not their Commander, but just another Warden and therefore free game for their teasing.

"You and Loghain made enough noise to wake the entire Vigil," Nathaniel dryly remarked into his oatmeal as Lhiannon passed by on her way to the kitchen. She stopped and scoffed at her friend, who was smirking into his bowl in an effort to look nonchalant.

"We were not _that_ loud."

"Oh, not at all," Cris had agreed, glancing at his fellow archer Nathaniel and giving him a quick wink. "I'd say there was enough noise to wake the entire arling, let alone the Vigil."

"It can get noisy if someone is playing 'Hide the Sausage'," Oghren smirked. Jowan and Anders groaned from beside the dwarf, rolling their eyes upward. Jowan's face flushed a bright red. Lhiannon shot Oghren a cocked eyebrow. "Been hiding some sausage, Oghren, that you can speak from experience?"

Oghren simply stared at Lhiannon as guffaws and snorts echoed through the hall, his brows furrowing for a moment before he returned his attention to his bowl of oatmeal. "Could have sworn I heard that sodding fly buzzing again…"

After speaking to the head cook in the kitchen and relaying requests for midday and evening meals, Lhiannon took her food laden tray and began the trek back up to her and Loghain's quarters. Before she could consider how she would open the door to their chambers with both hands occupied, the door opened before her. Loghain met her at the door, dressed in only leather breeches. His hair was slightly mussed, as if he had just risen from bed not long before. He took the tray from her and walked it as far as her desk, setting it on the top before turning back to her. He moved to her with a purpose, a wolfish grin in his face as he swept her into his arms. Bending her backwards, Loghain's teeth gently nipped her neck, Lhiannon's giggles bursting forth from her as the stubble of his chin tickled her sensitive flesh.

"That tickles!"

"It itches as well. I was preparing to bathe and shave but I seem to have been distracted."

Lhiannon met his eyes as he pulled her upright, a naughty smirk on her face. "I could help you with that," she purred, running her fingertips along the skin of Loghain's chest and up toward his neck.

Loghain looked down upon his new bride, at how her dark eyes shined with mirth as her fingers ghosted along the skin at the nape of his neck. Her other hand rested on the bare skin of his chest, her thumb gently stroking his skin. Loghain could feel his blood beginning to warm again, a pleasant heat building throughout him. "I was hoping you would offer your services," he growled, lowering his lips to hers.

Breakfast soon grew cold.

* * *

_It's going to be heaven to sleep in a real bed, with a real roof over my head._

Raelyn sat at the campfire, brooding as she poked a burning log with a long stick, watching as small sparks rose above the flames on the slight breeze. She and Teagan had taken first watch; he had insisted on not only taking a watch himself, but that a Grey Warden was always on watch as well, which was not an unreasonable request when camping in the wilderness. She and Sigrun had had little sleep in the last few weeks they were traveling central Ferelden, catching only a few short hours of sleep a night coupled with quick naps in a supply cart during the day.

As she lackadaisically poked at the coals, Raelyn brought a hand to her face to stifle a large yawn.

"I'm sorry, Raelyn," Teagan sighed, settling onto the log next to her. "I know I've asked a lot of you and Sigrun these last few weeks. When we arrive at South Reach, I'll give you and Sigrun free time so that you can adequately rest."

"You'd be my best friend forever if you did," Raelyn chuckled wearily, rubbing her face with her hands. "Just when I was feeling better from the Joining, this trip has me completely exhausted."

Teagan picked up a stick of his own, poking it into the coals until the end smoldered a bright red. "I'm glad that the Warden Commander sent you and Sigrun with us. We never would have survived the darkspawn ambushes in the Southron Hills without a Grey Warden present."

Raelyn shivered as she thought back to her first encounter with the darkspawn. Sigrun had tried to explain to her what sensing the darkspawn was like, but without actually encountering any, Raelyn did not know what to expect.

"You'll feel it in your blood," Sigrun had explained one day as she sat next to Raelyn at the fire, sharpening her daggers. "We all feel it a little differently, but it starts in the blood. When I sense them, my body burns like a bad fever and I feel a pressure behind my eyes."

"Sounds like a bad head cold," Raelyn had scoffed.

"Yeah," Sigrun agreed, picking up a broken stick to test the sharpness of her blade. "Except when you have a cold, you can't smell anything. Darkspawn _stink_. Like a carcass left out in the hot sun for a couple of weeks...and those are the _good_ smelling ones."

Their party had been only a few hours out of the actual village of West Hills; Teagan had wanted to stop by the lands administrated by Arl Gallagher Wulff. His arling had been devastated in the early days of the Blight, falling within days to the rampaging horde of darkspawn. Loghain had warned Teagan, Sigrun, and Raelyn of the darkspawn in the south of Ferelden, especially in areas near the ruins of Ostagar. Though the Blight was ended, any number of darkspawn could still inhabit southern Ferelden, reaching north from the Chasind lands.

As they approached Wulff's lands, Raelyn felt a strange heat just under her skin, like the burn of a high fever. Her blood seemed to crawl and itch under her skin like it was its own living thing, a mindless entity within her that sought to burrow through her skin in an attempt to escape. Her nostrils were filled with the overwhelming smell of rotting meat. She turned to Sigrun, whose normally perky face was pinched in concentration.

"Darkspawn," she told Raelyn quietly, pointing off ahead of them, to the south. "What you're feeling right now? That's the taint in your blood. Remember it; it will save your life and the lives of those with us." Sigrun motioned to Teagan, who brought their caravan to a stop. "Rae, you and I go first. Teagan's men will follow with ranged weapons; we need to keep them out of close combat with the darkspawn for as long as possible."

Raelyn had followed Sigrun into the forest beside the road, grimacing at the grimy, sickly landscape. Sigrun had said that the land was actually _improving_ with the Blight's end; Raelyn considered herself fortunate that she had not seen the land when it had been in the grip of the Blight. The lingering tendrils of corruption appeared to weakly reach out for them as if trying to rejuvenate themselves by touching a living creature.

When the first hurlock emerged from the underbrush, Raelyn froze, unprepared for the horrific figure that loomed before them. Though Sigrun had tried to describe the creatures beforehand, her detailed description had not done this creature justice. It looked like it had been a man once, but its features were now twisted and blackened, rows of sharp teeth gnashing together as she creature suddenly hissed at them. It bellowed a war cry that was quickly picked up by other creatures around it, the thundering of feet approaching from the distance filling the air ahead of them. Raelyn quickly prepared a hex, casting it in a wide arc around the creature as the sounds of more darkspawn drew closer. The band of darkspawn had been small and the battle ended fairly quickly, but the encounter left Raelyn shaken; it was completely normal, Sigrun had assured her. It did not stop Raelyn from seeking out the nearest thicket of bushes in which to vomit violently.

Raelyn brought her thoughts back to the present, remembering that Teagan was trying to have a conversation with her. She scoffed slightly as she turned and saw Teagan smirking at her.

"Returning to the conversation?"

"Sorry, Teagan. My mind went wandering."

"Obviously."

Laughing lightly, Raelyn continued to poke at the fire as she sat on her log. "Are you going to visit Arl Bryland again when we get to South Reach?"

"Yes, I would like to see if he has learned anything new since we were there a few weeks ago," Teagan nodded, rubbing his lightly stubbled chin with his hand. "Hopefully he hasn't left for Denerim just yet." A troubled looked crossed his face as he thought back upon the previous trip to South Reach and his visit with Arl Leonas Bryland.

* * *

Teagan paced in the foyer in Castle Bryland, trying to keep his impatience from showing. The chamberlain had left several moments before to announce Teagan to the Arl, leaving Teagan to his own devices in the entrance foyer. Leonas had a striking painting of a grand mabari hanging on the wall, a brindle beast with bright red kaddis painted onto it. Teagan studied the markings intently, trying to decipher their meeting when the double door at the end of the hall finally opened.

"The Arl will see you now."

Nodding his thanks, Teagan moved past the chamberlain and allowed the man to lead him into a small, but richly appointed audience hall. Leonas Bryland sat on a gleaming yet plain chair at the back of the hall, standing as Teagan closed the distance between them.

"Teagan Guerein," Leonas drawled, holding out a hand to shake the former bann's hand. "It is a pleasure to see you. I was troubled to hear of your plight." Leonas held out a hand toward a doorway to the side of his chair. "I would speak to you in private; there are often servants through here and our discussion is not destined to be spread as gossip over glasses of whiskey and wine after their daily duties are complete."

"I understand and thank you for your discretion," Teagan nodded, following Leonas through the doorway and into a small study. Leonas motioned to a set of high backed, richly upholstered chairs with a small table between. As Teagan settled himself into one of the chairs, Leonas moved to a small cupboard set along on wall, withdrawing two glasses and two glass decanters. He set his burdens on table between them, pouring a fragrant liquid into the small glasses. "Elderberry wine," he said, motioning to the first vessel. "The other is water."

Leonas handed Teagan a glass of wine, settling himself into the chair on the other side of the table. "So, what brings you to South Reach?"

"The upcoming Landsmeet."

Leaning back in his chair, Leonas took a sip of his wine. "Ah, coming straight to the point."

"I was hoping you had possibly heard of news from Redcliffe. South Reach is in a strategic place; travelers going to and from Redcliffe, Gwaren, Denerim, and West Hills all have to pass through South Reach. You must have heard something."

Leonas sighed again, his gaze moving over Teagan's shoulder to stare at the wall behind him. Teagan thought the Arl looked conflicted, as if something heavy was weighing on his mind. He looked older than his years. Teagan scoffed to himself; he imagined that they all looked older than their years, thanks to the tribulations of the last two. Draining the last of the wine in his glass, Leonas began to speak.

"Teagan," Leonas began, meeting the other man's gaze as he spoke, "in truth, little in the way of news has reached my ears from Redcliff directly, but that which has come to South Reach concerns me."

"Oh?" Teagan prompted, reaching over to refill the Arl's glass with wine. Perhaps the Arl would be more talkative if Teagan could keep the wine flowing; anything to learn whatever scraps of information he could. "What news have you heard?"

"The biggest thing I've heard, Teagan, and not in so many words, is trepidation. Eamon's vassals are uneasy, especially those whose lands directly border Redcliffe."

Teagan's brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing. "Uneasy? What for?"

Bryland took a mouthful of wine, holding it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. "it is my understanding that Eamon called all his vassals to Redcliffe immediately after you were removed from your lands. It was not long after that the whispers began. Their unease is focused on Eamon himself. If Eamon would strip his own flesh and blood of his lands, what will he do to them?

"I also hear that Eamon is recalling his soldiers, bringing them to Redcliffe proper. With West Hills devastated by the Blight and Arl Wulff's influence diminished, the balance of power in this part of Ferelden has shifted greatly toward Redcliffe, and I suspect Eamon knows it. Denerim might as well be in Antiva."

Teagan sighed, his apprehension at the next question crawling in his gut. "Who has Eamon appointed as Bann of Rainesfere?" The concern about the welfare of those residing in his former lands constantly tickled the back of Teagan's mind. They may not be 'his people' in name, but they remained so in his heart. Were the people happy? Were they suffering? Had Eamon punished anyone who showed any sort of support for Teagan?

Leonas rubbed his chin in thought, his eyes narrowing briefly in concentration. "Give me a moment to remember. Mirding? Mardan? He was the mayor of the town of Redcliffe."

"Murdock," Teagan supplied, rubbing his temple. "He's been a loyal supporter of Eamon for years and was recently hailed as a hero for helping the Grey Wardens defend Redcliffe against an attack of the undead." With a pensive sigh, Teagan ran a hand through is russet hair. "At least I know the people will be looked after properly; Murdock is a tough but fair man. Do you know who is mayor of Redcliffe now?"

"From what I have heard, there is no new mayor."

"So Eamon controls the town directly?"

"From what I've heard, yes. Teagan, what has come over your brother?" Leonas asked, shaking his head slowly and sadly. "This isn't the man I know; what could he possibly be thinking?"

The irony of Leonas' statement nearly made Teagan laugh out loud. It was exactly the same thing Eamon himself said of Teyrn Loghain in the dark days following Cailan's death and the darkspawn invasion. It was an irony that Loghain himself would likely appreciate. "If I knew for certain, perhaps I could stop this madness." Teagan thrust his fist into the palm of his other hand. "Maker's breath." Teagan went on to explain Isolde's trial and her collaboration with a known Orlesian spy. He explained how he witnessed the immediate aftermath of the attack on the Warden Commander and Eamon's admission that he knew of Isolde's plans to harm her. Teagan also told Leonas of Isolde's conviction of crimes against the Warden Commander, Amaranthine, and Ferelden, and how she escaped from Vigil's Keep in the chaos of the darkspawn attack there.

Teagan watched as Leonas' face became more troubled, his head shaking in disbelief. "I never understood how Eamon could have had such sympathies for the Orlesians who usurped your family's lands that he would marry one of them." Leonas' words caused Teagan to shift uncomfortably in his seat. The Orlesians had been removed from Ferelden only a few years before; Eamon and Teagan had just returned to their ancestral home of Redcliffe when Eamon met and almost immediately fell in love with Isolde, marrying her and making her his Arlessa. He remembered the near scandal Eamon's marriage to Isolde caused among those who had fought the Orlesian occupation only scant years before. The new Teyrn Loghain had been incensed. King Maric and Queen Rowan had been understandably concerned about Eamon's choice, but had never spoken against him in public.

"I know you were very young when your father died, Teagan. He was as much a hero to this nation as King Maric, Queen Rowan, and Loghain Mac Tir. You didn't see what the Orlesians did to us. It troubles me greatly to hear he may have consorted with known Orlesian spies."

A paused filled the space between the men, each studying the bottoms of their wineglasses or studying the intricate weave of the carpet beneath their feet. After several moments of silent contemplation, Leonas refilled their wineglasses, taking a draw off his. "Teagan, since we are trading in information and rumors, I have a something of my own to ask."

Teagan looked up from his wineglass, licking a small amount of wine off the stubble above his lip. "I'll tell you what I can."

Leonas leaned forward, a conspiratorial whisper in his voice. "Have you heard of news from Orzammar?"

Teagan felt his brows lower as a cold spike of anxiety settled into his gut. "Nothing very recent; mainly that King Harrowmont has decided to increase trade with the surface after a long battle with the dwarven nobles and merchants caste."

"That's not entirely accurate," the Arl sighed, a finger tapping the side of his wineglass.

"What do you mean, Leonas?"

"Being on the edge of the Brecilian Forest, South Reach has many lumber mills and wood craftsman. South Reach often exports raw wood and furniture to the noble houses in Orzammar. My seneschal was recently there to close a new trade deal with House Dace and mentioned that there were a number of templars there. More so than usual."

A troubled expression crossed Teagan's face. "Templars in Orzammar? Why would they go there?"

"Lyrium," Leonas said gravely, "rumor is they are increasing lyrium trade."

Teagan felt his brows furrowing. "And that can only mean one of two things. The Chantry is increasing the rations of lyrium they give the templars..."

"Or they are increasing their numbers."

* * *

"Hello? Teagan? Are you there?"

Teagan gave a start as Raelyn's hand waved in front of his face, breaking him from his recollections and returning his attention to the present and to his friend chuckling lightly beside him. "I'm sorry, Raelyn. I was distracted."

"Obviously," she retorted with a grin.

The logs in the fire popped and crackled, sending puffs of sparks and smoke into the sky. Raelyn stepped on a small coal that sprang forth from the fire, smothering it into the ground with the heel of her boot. "I'm glad we were able to offer a little assistance to Arl Wulff," Raelyn began as she continued to poke the logs with her stick, "his lands have been decimated. I never knew the Blight could do such damage."

"I'm grateful he was able to take a few minutes for us," Teagan agreed, nodding slightly. "I hope the mages he had in his employ can burn his lands quickly enough to remove the taint before the planting season passes him by entirely."

"Has the Arl had any further contact with the Chasind tribes?"

"Some," Teagan replied as he nodded, "a number of Chasind traders have trekked north to trade for goods they need. They tell the Arl that they also burn their lands in an effort to reclaim what fruitful farmland they have. Some areas have seen the return of mammals, but many Chasind lost their lives and homes to the darkspawn." Teagan poked at the fire again, his stick stirring up a small shower of sparks that he ground out with his boot. "The shaman of the tribe that Arl Wulff has spoken with, Chogun, was traveling north to the Frostbacks to meet with a relative who heads an Avvari tribe. He's hoping that some Avvari relatives may be willing to travel to the Wilds to help his tribe."

"Not that I'm a huge fan of the Chasind, but I do hope the Arl and Chogun can forge a positive trading relationship. No one deserves to suffer from the Blight." Realyn turned to look at Teagan, her face troubled. "Do you think Wulff will have to turn to Eamon again for help?"

A heavy sigh filled the space between Teagan and Raelyn. "He may have no choice," Teagan admitted reluctantly. "If Wulff's vassals can't plant in time, or plant enough, starvation will run rampant through West Hills this winter."

Raelyn snorted derisively. "Of course, Eamon will be right there offering his help. Denerim might as well be in the Anderfells. I hope Wulff does decide to seek aid at the Landsmeet. I'm sure the other nobles of Ferelden will come together to help their own."

With a scoff, Teagan rubbed his cheek, the rasp of a day's worth of stubble a whisper against his flesh. "Unfortunately, my friend, you know how nobility can be. They quickly forget what it means to help their fellow man when the immediate threat of danger has passed. They will be busy with their own maneuverings."

"Why are nobles all so fickle?" the mage scoffed, shaking her head slowly.

"If I were a noble, I'd be able to tell you," Teagan said with a sad, yet ironic scoff. "I don't know why Eamon is doing these things. If I knew that, perhaps something could have been done to avert all this trouble."

A slight breeze whispered through the campsite, rustling small wisps of Raelyn's unbound hair and blowing the small tendrils of smoke to her right. "That's what I don't understand, Teagan. Why is Eamon doing this? His actions will split Ferelden in two as surely as the civil war during the Blight almost did." She paused for a moment, turning and facing Teagan with a grim expression on his face. "We've heard from both Arls Bryland and Wulff that Eamon is recalling his soldiers to Redcliffe. The fact that he's recalling many of his soldiers from the lands of his vassals worries me, Teagan. Why would he do that?"

"I wish I knew, Raelyn," Teagan sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I wish I knew." Bracing his hands on his knees, Teagan stood, stretching his arms high above his head. His joints crackled as he moved, a groan of contentment escaping Teagan's weary lips.

"I'll go wake Sigrun for you so that you can get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I want to try and get to South Reach early and speak to the Arl once more." Teagan's hand came to his face to stifle a yawn. "With a little luck from the Maker, we can ride for Dragon's Peak and Denerim within a day or two."

* * *

_I apologize for the short chapter. My heart, for various reasons, was finding it difficult to write this week. Rather than give you a longer chapter that I felt was weak, I thought a shorter chapter would be best. _

_The next chapter will follow Teagan a bit more and we'll see Lhiannon's entourage prepare for the journey to Denerim._

_Special thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, cloud1004, Arsinoe, Dante Alighieri, Enaid, Tyanilth, Dark Chubb, and naomis8329. Also, thanks to those of you who read and reviewed my one shots "Coming Home" and "Roses and Stone." I love you all._

_Also thanks to the quiet readers and those who bookmark myself or the story in some way. You all have my appreciation.  
_


	31. The Long Road to Denerim

As the sun was an orange and pink promise on the horizon, carts and soldiers fell into place within the fortress of Vigil's Keep to begin the journey south to Denerim. The main avenue through the Vigil was filled with carts, covered wagons, and even a fine carriage or two, reducing the early morning foot and horse traffic to a small path along the edge of the avenue. The finest carriage of all was reserved for the King and Queen of Ferelden, though in all likelihood it would only be the Queen herself—and perhaps a guest or two—riding in the carriage. King Alistair would likely spend part of the trip traveling just outside on his horse, his golden armor gleaming like a star sent down from the heavens.

Lhiannon and Loghain were the first Wardens to exit the Vigil, walking side by side in their dark armor. His bore the single griffon of the Grey Wardens emblazoned on the chest and a new, smaller herald of Amaranthine on the outside of his arm just below the shoulder. Hers bore the double griffon announcing her as the Warden Commander of Ferelden as well as the herald of Amaranthine on her arm. There would be no such thing as apolitical Grey Wardens in Ferelden, not so long as they were administrators of an entire arling. That being the case, Lhiannon saw no harm in letting the Wardens embellish their armor with small heralds of their homelands if they wished. If it helped the Wardens focus on what they truly fought for—their people and home—it would serve as a motivational tool.

Loghain had his shield strapped to his back but instead of his sword joining it, his old and lovingly cared for bow accompanied it. His sword was belted in a scabbard at his side, positioned to be quickly drawn should the need arise. Lhiannon had Spellweaver in its scabbard at her waist; she had briefly considered carrying a small staff on her back but thought twice about it. Spellweaver could always act as a focus and her hands were weapons enough on their own.

As Lhiannon and Loghain stood at the top of the stairs, they looked out over the men and wagons below them. They could see the banner of Highever at the head of the long line of carts, pennants snapping jauntily in the light breeze. As their eyes followed the banners and colors of Highever, Lhiannon and Loghain saw Teyrn Fergus emerge from between two carts with one of his lieutenants, clapping the man on the back with a smile on his face. Lhiannon knew that Fergus was apprehensive about his role in the Landsmeet. Had it not been for the slaughter at Highever, it would be his father Bryce attending in his official capacity with Fergus there in an advisory role, observing and learning all he could about the machinations of the Landsmeet and the royal court as he assisted his father. It was a bittersweet Landsmeet for the young teyrn.

The next grouping of carts—containing the grandest carriage of all—was that that flew the King's standard. Heavily armored warriors on equally armored warhorses stood in formation around the grand carriage, ready to deliver their King and Queen safely to Denerim. It was within this entourage that Lhiannon and Loghain would travel, the other Wardens evenly dispersed among the rest of the large retinue to be ever vigilant against any darkspawn that may threaten them. Lhiannon opened her senses to the taint, feeling for the other Wardens that would be joining them on this journey. They moved about inside the Vigil, no doubt putting their last minute affairs in order. At least she hoped so; since Oghren was accompanying them, he was no doubt filling his flasks and wineskins.

Behind the retinue of the monarchy flew the wyvern of Gwaren. Cauthrien, Steward of Gwaren, moved about her men dressed in her battle tested silverite armor, her great sword strapped to her back. She was a model of efficiency, moving about her men as they finished securing saddlebags to their warhorses. Lhiannon knew that Loghain spoke to Cauthrien not long before, letting her know that they would do their best to visit Gwaren after the breach in the Brecilian Forest was dealt with. Cauthrien had been pleased with the news; though she would never admit such to Lhiannon herself, she had confided in Loghain that she was slightly nervous about her new station at Steward. Disappointing Loghain was the last thing she wanted to do.

"Cauthrien," he had said, placing a firm hand on her armored shoulder, "I would be more concerned if you were _not _anxious about such a burden. However, you have been the finest soldier and officer that a general could ask for; a born leader. I have the utmost confidence in you. Gwaren is in good hands; of that, I have no doubt." Loghain had been pleased at the small smile and nod Cauthrien had given him, her spine becoming a little straighter at her mentor's unwavering support. She had turned crisply on her heel, moving off to see to her men.

As Lhiannon and Loghain descended the stairs of the Vigil toward where the King was assisting the Queen into her grand carriage, Lhiannon felt a small shift in the taint behind her. Turning her head, she saw Nathaniel and Varel descend the steps behind them, quickly closing the distance between them. The four of them continued to walk toward Alistair and Anora, exchanging small talk about the pleasant skies as they approached the grand carriage.

Alistair turned his head as he sensed the Wardens approaching, his gentle hands guiding Anora into her seat. She sat heavily, breathing a relieved sigh as she settled into the plush seat of the carriage. Reaching under the seat, Alistair withdrew a small footstool, gently lifting Anora's feet and settling them in place. She nodded her thanks before turning and nodding toward the Wardens.

"Father," she smiled at Loghain, who had reached into the carriage to take his daughter's hand and place a light kiss on the soft flesh. As he withdrew, Anora looked to Lhiannon, a smirk turning up one corner of her mouth. "Mother."

Lhiannon shook her head as she heard Alistair snicker from one side while Loghain snorted from the other. "It never gets old, does it?"

"Not at all," Anora grinned.

"So," Alistair began, crossing his arms over his chest as he met Nathaniel's gaze, "how do you feel about being given command while the Warden Commander and her Second are away? It's a heavy burden she places on you." Alistair had questioned Lhiannon when she had told him of her choice of who would lead the Wardens in Amaranthine while they were at the Landsmeet. Though the King had met Nathaniel before and was aware of the high praise and confidence Lhiannon had bestowed upon him, Alistair still was wary of him simply because of the Howe name. Nathaniel had nothing left to prove to her, but perhaps leaving him in charge of affairs in Amaranthine would prove to Alistair once and for all that Nathaniel was the farthest thing from the dark legacy left by Rendon Howe.

"I would much rather be with them," Nathaniel admitted, standing tall with his hands clasped behind his back. "But, I'm honored at the Commander's confidence in me." Nathaniel tilted his head toward Varel beside him. "I have a skilled advisor in Varel; he will be an invaluable source of advice."

"Nathaniel has proven to be an efficient and confident leader, Your Majesty," Lhiannon said to Alistair. "He is among the best of us and deserves this opportunity."

"I wish you luck, Warden Nathaniel," Alistair said, returning his gaze to Lhiannon. "Well, I'll leave you to your last minute instructions with your people. Excuse me." With a nod, Alistair moved to the captain of his guard, a heavily armored man tending to his warhorse about a dozen paces away.

"The Vigil is in good hands, Commander," Varel stated, "all shall be as you left it when you return."

Lhiannon smiled at Varel before turning her gaze back to Nathaniel. "I have the utmost faith in you, Warden. Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine are indeed in good hands with you and Varel watching over them. Should you need to get an urgent message to me in Denerim, use the messaging birds."

"While we are in Denerim, we will take the opportunity to search for new recruits," Loghain began, ticking items off on his fingers. "The Commander intends to visit the Alienage; my presence there would be less than welcome. I shall visit Fort Drakon."

Lhiannon nodded her agreement. "We will also catch up with Raelyn and Sigrun there, since Teagan Guerein will be attending the Landsmeet so that his petition against losing his lands will be heard. I will send one of them back with any potential recruits, most likely Raelyn."

With a steady gaze, Lhiannon's eyes moved between Nathaniel and Varel. "When Raelyn arrives with the candidates, you are authorized to perform the Joining immediately." She paused a moment, her voice lowering slightly. She looked to Nathaniel with a grave expression. "For those that survive, begin schooling them in Grey Warden matters immediately. If you wish, take a small expedition into the Deep Roads at Knotwood Hills. That area is still open to the surface and needs to be periodically checked for activity. This will be a perfect opportunity for the new recruits to experience the darkspawn."

"Perhaps the Glavonaks can accompany them," Loghain suggested. "They can fashion a door to close off access to the surface."

Lhiannon hardly gave the suggestion a second thought. "Agreed. Have the Glavonaks assess the state of the opening and draw up plans for closing it off." Lhiannon turned to Varel. "If they require funds to begin work, provide them. Make sure Mistress Woolsey has a complete accounting of the expenditure; if she balks and starts going on about Weisshaupt needing to give approval, tell her Weisshaupt can stick their approval where the sun doesn't shine."

Nathaniel snorted in amusement; Lhiannon knew of his dislike of Mistress Woolsey and got the impression that Nathaniel _hoped_ she would give him a hard time about the costs of sealing the entrance. Apparently, he was itching for the opportunity to put her in her place. He turned to regard Loghain. "You mentioned a trip to Gwaren after the Landsmeet and sealing Urthemiel's breach. Is that still in your plans?"

"Yes," Loghain nodded, his eyes flicking over to where Cauthrien stood near her men. "I need to make sure all of my affairs within the teyrnir are finalized so that Cauthrien has a clean slate when she officially begins her duties as Steward. I also need to collect my personal belongings from there and have them shipped here to Vigil's Keep."

"If all goes as it should, we should be back in about six weeks," Lhiannon said, mentally ticking off the weeks on her fingers. "It will be slower going to Denerim with the carriages and wagons, but when we leave to meet the Dalish, we'll travel much lighter, maybe carry extra supplies on a pack horse rather than have a cart travel with us."

"We'll be carrying mostly soldiers' rations when we head to the breach," Loghain added. "We don't know how long it will take to close the breach, so we should pack enough food to last several days."

"You certainly will not have much luck hunting for game in the immediate vicinity of the breach," Nathaniel added, his hand rubbing the side of his face as he remembered his trip into the forest with the Dalish. "The land around the breach is still heavily corrupted. Any wildlife there is likely to be corrupted as well."

"An appetizing thought," Lhiannon grimaced, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Indeed," Nathaniel snorted. "Oghren and Anwen will be able to lead you to where we observed the breach. Oghren used his axe to cut a notch in the tree that I climbed. It won't be hard to find the breach from there."

Loghain turned to glance at the main doors of the Vigil, watching as Oghren and Anders descended the steps, traveling packs slung over their shoulders. "Wardens!" he barked toward them, his hands cupped around his mouth to direct the sound. Anders quickly looked up and nudged Oghren, pointing toward where Lhiannon and Loghain stood as he began to move in their direction. Loghain drew away for a moment to speak to them. He pointed Anders to a horse standing near the Queen's carriage while he motioned for Oghren to climb up on one of the supply carts. Both men moved to take their places, seemingly anxious to be underway as Loghain returned to where Lhiannon spoke with Nathaniel and Varel.

"Once our business is finished in Gwaren, we'll travel overland to return to the Vigil. I had suggested boarding a ship in Gwaren and sailing to Amaranthine, but Loghain and I decided to forego that idea." When Lhiannon had mentioned sailing back to Amaranthine, Loghain gave Lhiannon such a cold stare that she felt the depths of winter had arrived in his gaze. "There is no way in bloody hell I am stepping foot on a boat, or anyone I love for that matter," he had growled, his voice low and menacing. Lhiannon also thought she heard a crushing grief under his brisk tone, no doubt his mind turning back to when he had said farewell to Maric as he boarded the ship that saw him to his death. "I will _not_ step foot on a damned boat and I sure as hell won't see _you_ step on one either. End of discussion." It was a battle Lhiannon had chosen to surrender.

It was at that moment that Alistair approached their small gathering once more, his hair flowing gently around his face and neck as he moved. "Teyrn Fergus and Steward Cauthrien both tell me they are ready to get underway. The Queen is comfortably settled in her carriage. I think we're ready to depart."

Lhiannon turned to Varel and Nathaniel, shaking both of their hands firmly and giving each a small nod. "Gentlemen, we will take our leave now. I have the utmost faith in both of you."

Nathaniel and Varel saluted to both of their commanders, watching as they mounted their nearby horses. With a nod from Alistair, a horn sounded from a rider next to him, signaling those at the front of the retinue to begin the journey. Within moments, the Grey Wardens passed through the gates of Vigil's Keep on their way to Denerim.

* * *

"As much as I really liked traveling, I'll be glad to get home."

Raelyn snorted lightly as she watched Sigrun leap down from the cart they had been riding in, thick mud splashing up on the legs of her dark armor. Sigrun had taken advantage of a quick nap in the cart as Raelyn kept watch for darkspawn. "I thought you wanted to see the entire surface; every last piece of it."

"I did," Sigrun shrugged, carefully hauling her tent and bedroll off the cart behind her, holding it above her head in an effort to keep them out of the mud. "But I don't need to see it in all _one month_. Besides, I'm not the best horseman and the thought of all that time on horseback makes me nervous. I'm still uneasy that far above the ground."

"You're uneasy on horseback?"

"Hello! I'm a dwarf! If my two feet aren't on the ground, that's too high for me. I could still fall up into the sky."

"No one has fallen into the sky, Sigrun."

"Well, there's always a first time."

Raelyn and Sigrun giggled as they hauled their small packs of equipment to the clearing just off the West Road where they would set camp for the night. Teagan had wanted to arrive in South Reach this day, but the day's constant rain made the road deep with mud, the wheels of the supply carts threatening to become buried within layers of muck. Though there was still several hours of daylight left, Teagan thought it best to set camp and wait for the rains to subside and the roads to dry out a bit. The low clouds had changed from a flat, slate grey to higher, slightly brighter clouds. Hopefully, it was a good sign.

They had, however, precious little time for such delays. The Landsmeet was just over a week away and with their supply caravans causing the party to move slower than they otherwise would, they were running on a tight schedule already. If the rains did not subside soon, Teagan would be forced to have his people move through the night on what could be described as a forced march, a concept that left him feeling uneasy. They may also need to bypass South Reach and head directly for Dragon's Peak and a conversation with Bann Sighard. That was one appointment Teagan did not wish to miss.

Camp was set up as quickly and efficiently as could be, given the constant stream of rain that fell around them. A muddy path was soon beaten into the vegetation from the constant trips back and forth to the supply carts but before long a small, yet bustling camp was in place. A fire was built among the circle of tents, a large kettle hung over it with a stew in the beginning stages. Most of the entourage stayed in their tents and out of the rain, tent flaps open to watch outside so long as the rain also stayed outside.

While many of the soldiers complained about the constant rain, Sigrun still could not get enough of it. It was fascinating to watch the rain as it fell toward her, the feel of the cool drops hitting her skin and running down her face. How the drops felt and tasted as they landed on her tongue. A little rain was not going to stop her from enjoying some time outdoors. Though the sky above still made her uneasy from time to time, she was developing a sense of freedom and weightlessness from the absence of miles of heavy stone around her. There were times she missed living beneath the surface, but those times were becoming fewer and farther between. _This_ life was her true calling; a life among the Grey Wardens on the surface. She sorted lightly; _who would have thought that? All the subsurface dwarves would think I'm sun addled. _At the moment, her tent was the last place she wanted to be. Picking up her cloak and a small tackle box and reel, she moved off into a copse of trees beyond their camp, heading toward a small stream she heard bubbling cheerfully nearby. _Maybe there will be fish there. I love fishing…hmm… Yep, definitely sun addled._

* * *

"Hail!"

Teagan turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling out, the deep timbre carrying easily through the trees just off the West Road. A small caravan approached their encampment, a single merchant's wagon pulled by two horses followed by a single rider leading a pack horse. There was a man and woman seated on the wagon, the fair skinned, ginger haired man holding the reins to the horses in the lead. The woman beside him was of slighter build; she had the darker skin and hair of a Ravaini. The single rider behind them appeared to be their son, his build like the man but with the swarthy skin and hair of the woman. Teagan raised his hand in salutation. "Greetings, stranger. You are a merchant?"

"Aye, that I am," the man said, pulling his wagon to a stop as the single rider came alongside the wagon. "Name's William. This is my wife Leola and son Torias."

Teagan nodded in greeting to Leola and Torias as William introduced them. "What goods do you carry with you, ser?"

"Normally basic sundries, though the templars snapped up all of my healing supplies while I was in Redcliffe. We're headin' to South Reach to replenish and go back. If I can sell healing supplies that quickly, I'd be a fool not to take advantage."

"You came from Redcliffe?" Teagan asked, his voice guarded. "Do you have news from there?"

"Like gossip, do ya?" William asked, a grin crossing his fair features. "My Leola loves trading gossip."

Shrugging, Teagan did his best to appear sheepish. "It is a guilty pleasure of mine."

The merchant's wife giggled lightly into her hand. "Place is crawling with templars," Leola said, shuddering lightly in her seat as her giggles faded away. Teagan found her voice and accent to be pleasant to his ears. "They make me nervous."

"Rivaini don't go belivin' in the Chantry and the Maker," William offered, patting Leola lightly on her knee. "'Andraste this' and 'Maker that'. Leo's always leery of them."

"Not so leery that I won't take their coin if they're offering it."

Teagan joined William and Torias as they chuckled at Leola's comment. "No, being leery won't make ya any coin," William said.

"Lots of dwarves in Redcliffe too, which was surprising," Torias offered, gently stroking the neck of his horse and murmuring to it softly. "I haven't seen that many dwarves outside of Orzammar since the Grey Wardens led them against the archdemon."

Teagan rubbed his chin in thought as he considered the merchant family's words. _Redcliffe crawling with templars and dwarves;_ _what is Eamon up to? _

"That _is_ strange," Teagan agreed, wanting to press for more information, but not wanting to raise suspicion among the merchants, especially if they were traveling back toward Redcliffe. "I wonder why so many dwarves would brave the surface?"

"Coin, o' course," William snorted, chuckling lightly. "Why else would dwarves brave the open sky unless there was coin involved? A _great deal_ of coin likely brought them to the surface. That lyrium stuff, if I had to guess."

Teagan forced a laugh, hoping it did not sound _too_ forced to the merchants. "Enough coin and even the King of Orzammar himself would come to the surface." He paused as William snorted his laughter, Leola and Torias nodding in agreement.

"Ha! Indeed, my friend," William agreed, slapping his knee in amusement. "I overheard a couple of them talking in the tavern on the hill—you know, the Red Lady? They were well into their drink by the time I got there. Anyway, they were talking about scouring the nearby cliffs for entrances into those caverns that supposedly run underground."

"Da, you know that's just a myth," Torias scoffed. William turned and hushed his son.

"No! Supposedly there are caverns underground that the dwarves used to move between their cities in ancient times. Dark Routes? Deep Runs?"

"The Deep Roads?" Teagan supplied, to which Leola snapped her fingers and elbowed her husband.

"The Deep Roads! That's it, Will!"

"Aye," William nodded knowingly, "Deep Roads. A fool's folly, says I."

Teagan tried to keep a neutral expression on his face as reviewed what he gathered from the conversation in his head. There was an increased templar presence in Redcliffe. Large amounts of dwarves were also in Redcliffe. They were scouting for entrances to the Deep Roads. _What could this all mean?_

"Well," Teagan said, waving a hand nonchalantly, "let's talk business shall we? What supplies do you have on hand?" After several minutes of perusing the merchant's wares, Teagan purchased some dried meat, cheese, and ale, calling over a couple of his men from camp to help carry the goods back before bidding William and his family a safe journey.

A lightly armored man stood in the trees a number of paces away, watching the transaction through a small spyglass. Once the transaction was completed and the parties began moving their separate ways, the man quickly and quietly moved to a horse tied to a nearby tree. Mounting the horse, he cautiously moved through the trees, circling wide of the camp. Once he was safely beyond hearing, he moved onto the road and urged his horse into a gallop, racing into the direction from which the merchants came.

* * *

Tellerie was a small village along the North Road between Vigil's Keep and Denerim. Only a few buildings graced the main road of the village, a dirt path barely wide enough for two carriages traveling side by side. The village's solitary inn, _Stanley's Cup_, had comfortable, if basic lodgings and also hosted the village's only tavern. The King and Queen were to stay in the inn that night as it was far more secure than having them camp out in their grand carriage. The inn's proprietor was a bit nervous with all the guards milling about his establishment—driving away his usual customers—but the coin that Alistair paid him more than made up for any misgivings. He and his employees quickly went to work, cooking and serving meals and drinks to the hungry and thirsty soldiers who stopped in.

Lhiannon and Loghain had also been offered a room in the small inn but politely turned the proprietor down. After Anders insisted that he and Oghren could handle watch duties, Lhiannon hoped she and Loghain could spend some quiet time together—_or maybe not so quiet time,_ she snickered to herself—and knowing that the King and Queen were only a few doors away made her feel just a little uneasy. There was no telling how thin the walls of the inn were and if she and Loghain were to engage in the activities that newly married couples engaged in, the last people she wanted to hear their escapades were the King and Queen. The proprietor was aghast at hearing that Lhiannon and Loghain were perfectly happy setting up a tent outside and instead offered them the use of his private stable instead.

"It's nothing fancy, mind you," he had begun, handing Loghain a large covered pot of steaming stew and Lhiannon an equally large wicker basket of bread and sweet pastries. "But the straw in the loft is clean and sweet and the roof doesn't leak. So if you won't stay here, I insist that you stay there." The proprietor turned away before the Mac Tirs could protest, muttering under his breath about the Heroes of River Dane and Ferelden sleeping in a tent like two bloody, stubborn fools when he could provide _some_ hospitality.

How could they say no to that?

Rather than taking their meal to the stable, Lhiannon and Loghain took it to the bank of a small creek nearby, enjoying their meal next to the bubbling water as they sat on a fallen log. They ate quietly, enjoying the simple pleasures of a hearty meal and each other's company. When they finished, Lhiannon rinsed the pot out in the creek as Loghain stood, his stretches causing his joints to crackle and pop noisily. Lhiannon turned to look over her shoulder, a brow raised in mirth, a small snicker escaping her lips.

"Not one word from you," Loghain groused, pointing an accusing finger at her.

"I would _never_," she said, filling her voice with feigned shock.

"I can_ hear _your pert thoughts before you even give them voice."

"I'm your wife; it's my job to be pert."

"I don't remember that being part of our vows."

Lhiannon stood, setting the clean pot aside before moving to Loghain, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Do you remember this, then?" She stood on her toes, her lips pressing onto his, the tip of her tongue lightly running over his bottom lip. He needed no encouragement to open his mouth to hers, deepening the kiss as his hands pulled her tighter to him.

"Hmm," he murmured after their kiss broke, "I'm not quite sure. Perhaps I need more reminding."

Lhiannon ran her hand down Loghain's chest, following the planes until she reached the top of his breeches. Her fingers continued their forays south, brushing up against his hardening flesh. With a grin, she lightly squeezed him before dashing off toward the stable, quickly snatching up the empty bread basket as she ran. "You'll have to catch me if you want more reminding!"

Loghain growled in anticipation, picking up the clean pot and using his Warden senses to track Lhiannon. It was not difficult, especially when he knew right where she was headed. Within moments, he had caught up to her in the stable's loft. She waited for him with open arms, wearing nothing but an impudent grin as he entered the circle of her embrace.

It was not the most difficult tracking mission for Loghain, but it was certainly among the most enjoyable.

* * *

Dusk was rapidly approaching as Sigrun pulled in her line, carefully removing the hook and returning it to her small tackle box. It had been a fruitful trip, having caught four small fish. It was certainly not enough to feed a Grey Warden, but Sigrun did not mind. She would take her small bounty back to camp and share it with Teagan and Raelyn.

When the Commander sent her off with Teagan's entourage, Sigrun had not known her two new friends very well. She knew that Raelyn and Teagan had been friends for a long time. Raelyn, Sigrun knew, had drawn close to Anders in their time at the Vigil, but other than that, Sigrun knew little of the mage herself. Teagan was also a bit of a mystery. She worried that Teagan would be a spoiled former nobleman, bemoaning his situation and being generally whiny and rude. To Sigrun's pleasant surprise, she found Teagan to be down to earth, a positive man who cared deeply for his people and lands even though they were taken from him by his older brother. Sigrun thought Teagan would spend his days plotting a suitably violent and bloody revenge; it was how the noble families did it in Orzammar anyway. She had been surprised to see Teagan wish to bring his petition to the nobles of the Landsmeet rather than try to undermine his brother through innuendo and trickery; or even hire assassins, which was also not beyond the realm of possibility for the dwarven nobles.

As she approached where Teagan and his entourage were camped, Sigrun felt a small prickle run up her spine. It was not the feel of darkspawn, but it was a feeling that something, somewhere, was amiss. Sigrun dropped into a crouch, drawing one of her daggers and quietly moving among the brush and trees separating her from the campsite, every footfall slow and deliberate. She took her time moving toward the camp, a shadow among the others that were quickly deepening as the sun fell further below the horizon. Movement not two dozen steps away caused Sigrun to freeze in her tracks, her body hidden among the branches of a low bush.

An armored soldier stood just off the road between her and the camp, his armor darkened to blend in with the shadows in which he stood. Sigrun frowned; the Legion had often darkened their armor to blend in with the shadows of the Deep Roads in an effort to ambush bands of darkspawn. The soldiers of the Legion may be dead men and women walking, but that did not mean they wished to hasten their true deaths without taking as many of the darkspawn with them as they could. Surprise was a tactic they used often.

Beyond the man she could see Teagan, Raelyn, and their small compliment of men in the center of the camp, surrounded by more of the men in darkened armor. The armored men had their weapons drawn and while they were not necessarily pointed directly at Teagan and his men, they sent the message that they could easily be brought to bear.

The sounds of an approaching horse reached Sigrun's ears. She flicked her eyes to her right, watching as a man in grand armor entered the circle of the camp, the light of the campfire revealing his dark red armor with a crest on the front. Sigrun could not be sure of the crest from the angle she saw him at. Teagan and Raelyn clearly did not need to see the crest to know who it was that approached them, as their eyes went wide with recognition and another prickle of _wrongness_ fluttered down Sigrun's spine. The man smoothly dismounted from his horse, reaching up to remove his full helmet and handing it to a soldier next to him. The man looked at Teagan and Raelyn for a moment, apparently assessing them before he spoke.

"Greetings, brother."

* * *

_A/N: The plot thickens. Oh boy. Also, it was just about one year ago that I started writing "Rend Asunder", though it took me another two months to work up the nerve to post the first chapter on FF. Fast forward to now, almost a year later and over 511,000 words written among all my stories. Holy cow! I never knew I had it in me!  
_

_As always, special huzzahs and thanks go to reviewers Enaid Aderyn, Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, cloud1004, Kendoka Girl (who is plugging away at catching up with the story), Aura of Darkness Night, naomis8329, Arsinoe, Tyanilth, icey (another reading and reviewing machine!), and Dark Chubb. You all help keep me motivated with your ideas and feedback; hopefully we'll all be here if I ever hit the 1,000,000 word mark!_

_Thanks as well to the silent readers and bookmarkers...I appreciate your support!_


	32. Make Haste

"I had heard rumors that you and Raelyn had been traveling the countryside in southern Ferelden," Eamon began, his steady gaze moving between them. "I just couldn't believe my little brother would wander so far from his keeper in Amaranthine; I had to see it for myself."

Teagan stood rooted to the spot, his angry glare not leaving the face of Eamon as his brother nonchalantly removed one of his armored gauntlets to run his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it out. Eamon looked smug, no doubt feeling a sense of accomplishment at having found Teagan just outside his lands.

"How come you didn't visit me while you were in this part of Ferelden, Teagan?" Eamon said, his voice even yet Teagan thought he could detect a hint of dark amusement in his tone. "It is rather rude to come so close to Redcliffe without bothering to stop in and say hello. I do have rooms available for guests within the castle. They are, however, on the lowest level and tend to be sparsely furnished, but I assure you, you would have been comfortable there until the Landsmeet."

Teagan scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. Several of the men surrounding them began to bring their weapons to bear, but with a single wave of Eamon's hand they lowered them once more. "Since our last meeting was at the business end of a sword while you forcibly removed me from my home, I decided that I would dispense with the formalities and conclude my business without bothering you, _brother_."

"And then run with your tail between your legs to your keeper in Amaranthine to tell of what you observed? Your keeper, whose very existence defies the laws of Andraste and the Maker."

Teagan and Raelyn shared a quick glance, both reading concern on the other's face. _Eamon sounds very different_, Teagan thought to himself. It was a troubling development. "Eamon, you know full well the Warden Commander is not my keeper."

"It is the Maker's law that magic must serve and never rule," Eamon began, stepping forward and putting a firm hand on both Raelyn and Teagan's shoulders. "I would see you _saved_ from eternity in the Void. Lhiannon Amell defies the Maker's law by ruling over an arling. I should have been more vehement with Alistair in not allowing his _wife_ to give a ruling seat to a mage." Eamon paused and Teagan thought he could see a type of zealotry in his eyes, a desperate belief that what he was saying was _right_. "Teagan, this is the first step down the road to becoming another Imperium ruled by the depraved power of blood magic." Eamon paused, turning to Raelyn and looking at her with pity. "You especially, Raelyn, need to remember the Maker's teachings; as a mage, you have a much more difficult road with the Maker."

Raelyn opened her mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut again with a perceptible snapping and grinding of her teeth. She wanted to defend mages and tell Eamon that most mages _hated_ blood magic as a rule. It was her belief that most mages who dabbled in blood magic were driven to it out of fear, oppression, or desperation. Backing an animal into a corner will near always cause it to lash out and bite; mages were no different. Some mages did use blood magic simply for its power, but they were few and far between. A fair number of mages dabbled in blood magic once to satisfy their curiosity and then never used it again. She felt Teagan's hand settle on her forearm, squeezing it gently in an attempt to ease her growing agitation.

After he was certain Raelyn would not interject, Teagan met his brother's eyes once more. "Eamon, you know full well that not all mages are blood mages. You are painting with a broad brush. The Warden Commander didn't _ask_ or _demand_ to be given an arling to rule. The Crown gifted it to the Grey Wardens so that they could rebuild their order in Ferelden; the _Grey Wardens_. Amaranthine wasn't gifted to the Warden Commander personally and she _knows_ that."

"She is in a position of power and _that_ is beyond the Maker's teachings." Eamon frowned, looking upon Teagan with sadness. "Teagan, I will not see you wander the Void in eternity; you _must_ turn from the path the mage set you on and return to the Maker's path. It is the only way to avoid damnation."

Teagan took a step backward, looking at his brother in disbelief. Weapons were once again brought to bear on Teagan and Raelyn until an impatient wave from Eamon silently ordered the soldiers to stand down. Teagan held his breath as the soldiers lowered their weapons before pointing emphatically at his brother. "Eamon, the Warden Commander _risked her life_ to save yours by finding the sacred ashes! She _saved_ Connor from the demon that possessed him rather than let Isolde sacrifice herself or kill him! She defended Redcliffe from the demon's minions! Does that not mean _anything_ to you?"

Eamon clasped his hands in front of him, speaking to Teagan with a believer's passion. "Teagan, just because she found the sacred ashes of the Blessed Andraste does not make her one of the Maker's chosen. She is still a mage and abhorrent to the Maker for defying His Will. The miracle of my recovery was due to the ashes of Andraste themselves, not _her._"

Teagan stared at his brother, his mind whirling. Eamon had always supported the Warden Commander in the past—at least, before the end of the Blight—what had caused him to change his mind so radically? Lhiannon had put Alistair on the throne as Eamon wished, albeit it with Anora at his side. Eamon had not been happy with that development, but seemed to accept it for the good of Ferelden. Lhiannon had spared Teyrn Loghain at the Landsmeet and made him a Grey Warden after Eamon called Loghain a tyrant and said his actions were unforgivable.

Was this why Eamon was so vehement in his new hatred of the Warden Commander? Did he think she openly defied his counsel in front of the nobles of the Landsmeet to make him look foolish? That she had only taken parts of his advice instead of all? That she allowed Anora to rule beside and guide Alistair instead of him? That she spared the Hero of River Dane—loved by Fereldens everywhere because of his actions during the war against Orlais—and made him a Warden despite his crimes? That because of those two actions, Eamon's power and influence was limited only to western Ferelden rather than across the nation as a whole? Teagan knew that if Anora and Loghain had been eliminated, Eamon would have been the one to influence and guide Alistair. Eamon would have become the second most powerful man in Ferelden. Teagan felt his eyes narrowing suspiciously at Eamon. Could he have been this mistaken about his brother; that his brother was not the benevolent arl he portrayed himself to be but instead a scheming politician?

"I can see the questions in your eyes, Teagan. I know that expression well," Eamon said, taking a few small steps toward them and gesturing as he spoke. Raelyn watched quietly, not wanting to openly display her growing anger at the Arl's bigoted and hurtful words. She did not want to fan the flames of Eamon's apparent zealotry if she could avoid it.

"You wonder what has happened to your brother," Eamon said, continuing his light pacing, "and you deserve to know. After I recovered from my illness and Connor was taken to the Circle, Isolde and I were devastated. We lost our only son and heir to the depravity of magic. We mourned Cailan's loss. It was during that time that the Chantry offered us solace in our grief. Then, after the trial and Isolde's imprisonment, the Chantry was there once again offer me the support I needed. With Isolde and I parted, the Chantry is my source of strength until we can be together again."

Eamon stopped his pacing, his cold stare boring into Raelyn first before turning to Teagan. A cold shiver prickled down her spine at his stare despite the anger she could barely contain. "But, returning to the point; Teagan, you really should mind your own business. _Do not_ try to sway others off the Maker's path by supporting a mage who rules over others. It is against His teachings and if I cannot convince you to return to the Maker's path, then I must do everything in my power to stop you from leading others astray.

"Ferelden has fallen off the Maker's path by allowing a mage to rule. It is my duty as Arl and an Andrastian to see that Ferelden returns to the Maker's path by any means necessary."

"And what is it you wish to see Ferelden do?" Raelyn said, her voice a deep growl through gritted teeth. Her hands were squeezed into tight fists, the knuckles startlingly white as her nails dug into her palms. Eamon looked to her with pity, as if she were a poor wretch already doomed to wander the Void with little hope of salvation.

"The Warden Commander needs to be stripped of all her titles and turned over to the Chantry for judgment, for she has defied the Maker's law by ruling over others and for that, she must face the Maker's justice."

* * *

The forest was strangely quiet, as if all the life within held its collective breath as the Guerein brothers spoke. Sigrun likewise held her breath, listening to Eamon pontificate his beliefs to his all but captive audience. Teagan and Raelyn looked completely shocked and dumbfounded at the Arl's words. _Well, of course they would; Teagan probably knows him better than most anyone and Raelyn has been with Teagan long enough to know the Arl rather well herself. _The one thing the Arl said that had Sigrun extremely worried was the statement about Lhiannon being stripped of her titles and turned over to the Chantry for judgment.

_Ancestors tits! Has he gone completely insane? I knew the topsiders' religion had a little bit of crazy in it, but I never thought it was catching! _Sigrun watched the events before her with growing dread, not knowing what she could do to help. She listened as Eamon told Teagan and Raelyn that they would be his "guests" and "under his protection" until they reached Denerim. _Guests_, Sigrun said to herself with a light snort, _prisoners is more like it_.

Her mind whirled, trying to find some way to help her companions. She was only one person; though she was trained in stealth, Sigrun knew that taking out the heavily armored men one by one without raising an alarm was difficult at best. There was no telling how many more men the Arl had hidden amongst the trees or camped nearby. Sigrun was confident in her abilities, but even she had her limits. She had the strength of stone from her training in the Legion of the Dead, but even that would not last nearly long enough to defeat the Arl's men.

The best thing she could do was try to gather as much information as she could about what they faced; a rash decision here could mean the difference between escape and becoming a "guest" herself. Moving deliberately and carefully, she backed away from where the soldiers stood not far away, every step calculated with the greatest caution. She began to slowly circle the camp, making note of how many men she saw positioned around the perimeter. As she made her mental notes, she heard the unmistakable sounds of even more soldiers not far away. Evidentially, the Arl had positioned the bulk of his men nearby and only took a handful to surround and subdue Teagan's small camp. Sigrun felt her stomach drop. There had to be _something_ she could do.

Her alarm increased when she heard the Arl order several of his men to search the nearby woods for anyone else in Teagan's party. _That's my cue to leave_.

As she moved away from the bulk of Eamon's men, she came upon one of the horses that accompanied her companions through southern Ferelden, its reins wrapped around the lowest branches of an evergreen tree. It was a small mare; a horse that Sigrun knew was of the slightly skittish sort. It gave the dwarf an idea, as unappetizing as it sounded.

She could ride to Denerim.

Counting on her fingers, Sigrun knew the Landsmeet was not far off, which meant the Wardens would be traveling to Denerim soon; they could even be there already. It was closer than Vigil's Keep, plus there was a Grey Warden already in Denerim. Sigrun was sure that King Alistair would want to know what she learned and could likely get a message to Vigil's Keep if the Warden Commander had not arrived yet.

The thought of riding a horse to Denerim was disconcerting, knowing she would be cold, hungry, exhausted, and very, very sore by the time she reached the capital. However, Sigrun knew it was their best hope of warning the King and the other Wardens of Eamon's intentions toward the Warden Commander.

The horse quietly snorted as Sigrun approached. Slowly and silently, she reached up and pulled the reins from where they were tangled in the branches of the tree. The horse stamped one of her front hooves as the reins were freed. Sigrun had been exposed to horses at Vigil's Keep, but she was far from comfortable around them. Still, it was important to appear confident around the creatures, which Sigrun now thought was easier said than done.

"Easy there, girl," Sigrun crooned quietly, listening for any sort of approaching footsteps. She heard nothing but the rustling of leaves high in the trees and the voices of Teagan and Eamon some distance away. Sigrun reached into a small pouch at her belt and removed a piece of dried fruit, offering it to the horse in what she hoped was a peace offering. The mare was interested, gently plucking the morsel from Sigrun's palm. Taking that as a positive sign, Sigrun looked at the stirrup hanging before her, feeling her stomach drop another notch as she contemplated hauling herself up into the saddle. The horse exhaled sharply through its nose, seemingly telling Sigrun to either climb on or leave her alone. With a small sigh, Sigrun lifted her foot into the stirrup and with a great push, reached for and scrabbled at the pommel of the saddle to haul herself up.

The horse pranced nervously as Sigrun finally pulled herself into the saddle, her feet barely touching the tops of the stirrups. _Oh well, I'll just have to make do for now._ Closing her eyes, she tried as best she could to send a message of confidence to Raelyn. Whether Raelyn received the message and knew what it meant, Sigrun was not sure. After a moment concentrating on the message to Raelyn, Sigrun leaned forward in the saddle, stroking the horse's powerful neck gently and speaking to her softly. "All right, girl, let's get moving."

* * *

The road between Vigil's Keep and Denerim was growing busy, the grand entourage of nobility encountering a number of travelers and merchants also headed to Denerim and the Landsmeet. The population of the capital swelled during the days around the Landsmeet, merchants from all parts of Ferelden and beyond arriving at the capital to pitch their wares and services. For some, it was their greatest money making opportunity of the year.

The miles fell away as the party traveled south. Lhiannon watched from her vantage point behind the royal carriage as the road began to gradually widen and the number of small villages and settlements steadily increased. Denerim was only a half day away and Lhiannon looked forward to spending time at the Warden compound within the palace district, bringing life back to the building that had stood largely abandoned since Ostagar.

"Commander? A word?"

Lhiannon turned her head, watching as Loghain moved his large warhorse next to her. His gaze was intense as he looked between her, the royal carriage carrying Anora, and the lithe and powerful form of Sergeant Maveriles as she moved her horse into a position nearby. Lhiannon saw the Sergeant's movement from the corner of her eye and quickly glanced over to the other woman. Maverlies met Lhiannon's gaze, giving her commander a polite nod before returning her attention to the road ahead. Lhiannon looked back to Loghain and patiently waited for him to turn his gaze back to her. _All business then. _"Yes, Second?"

"I have made arrangements to have a bodyguard with you at all times while we are in Denerim. You are not to go anywhere unaccompanied by either myself or the guard I have assigned to you."

Loghain watched as a scowl darkened Lhiannon's features. She clenched her jaw briefly, two angry splotches of color blooming on her face. "And you never thought of discussing this with me before? You just did it?"

Loghain continued as if she had not spoken. "Sergeant Maverlies will be your primary bodyguard when I am not, or cannot be, with you myself. There should also be another Warden with you whenever possible."

"Second Loghain, I am more than capable of defending myself. I do not..."

"This is non-negotiable, Commander," Loghain said, his expression hard as he slashed an armored hand through the air. "We will be in the heart of Chantry influence in Ferelden. There will be priests and templars everywhere and I do not trust that they can, or wish to, keep their zealots at bay."

"While I agree that we must be cautious while in Denerim, is a ring of bodyguards around me truly necessary? Is that a message you wish to project? That we fear them?" Lhiannon lowered her voice, leaning slightly toward Loghain and lowering her voice so they could not be overheard. "Do you not think that your personal feelings are causing you to overreact? Would you do this if anyone else was your commander?"

Loghain's eyes narrowed in anger, his voice a barely contained hiss that filled the space between them. "You even _ask_ that, after it was one of _their_ daggers buried to the hilt in your chest? I _will not_ allow any of them that close to you again, not if I can prevent it."

"I understand the 'why'. However, I cannot have you constantly undermining my authority by just doing these things without at least bringing it to my attention first. You have to remember that you are not a general any longer."

"If taking such measures to protect you, _Commander_, requires me to go around your authority, so be it. Ferelden cannot lose you to the whims of murderous malcontents." Loghain paused, his gaze and expression softening slightly as he spoke. "_I _cannot lose you. Not when I can take steps to prevent it. You are too important to Ferelden's future, as well as mine."

"I do not agree with you circumventing my authority, _again_. We must also be careful of such power plays in public. The Chantry would like nothing more than to see us divided and you taking command, putting me 'in my place' as a mage."

Loghain scowled. "I don't give a bloody damn about them. Your safety is paramount and I will do _everything_ in my power to secure it. As far as they are concerned, I am acting as the Arl of Amaranthine to protect my wife and Arlessa." His eyes narrowed. "You yourself said in matters regarding the arling, we rule as equals. This is a matter of security for Amaranthine. You just happen to benefit as Warden Commander."

The polite clearing of a throat nearby effectively ended the brewing argument between Lhiannon and Loghain. "Warden Commander, may I speak to you for a moment?"

Lhiannon turned to see Alistair next to her, his golden armor gleaming as he sat astride his great warhorse. He leaned forward and looked beyond Lhiannon to where Loghain rode at her other side. "Perhaps you would like to visit with Anora while the Warden Commander and I speak?"

Loghain scoffed derisively, his scowl deepening at his obvious dismissal. He returned his attention to Lhiannon; she felt his growing irritation through the taint between them. "Shall we resume our argument later, Commander?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Lhiannon watched as Loghain nudged his warhorse forward, bringing the beast alongside the carriage carrying Anora. She could hear the tone of his voice change as he spoke to Anora, the concern and love evident in his words.

"I don't think I'll ever completely understand that man," Alistair said, shaking his head slightly. Lhiannon turned her gaze to him, a smile crossing her features at the look of Alistair seemingly trying to puzzle out his father-in-law. He met Lhiannon's gaze a moment later, chuckling as he did so. "Do _you_ completely understand him? You must at some level."

"I learn new things about him every day," Lhiannon said, giving Alistair a broad smile.

After a moment spent in companionable silence, Lhiannon watched as Alistair removed one of his gauntlets and ran his hand through his hair. It was sign Lhiannon knew well; he was troubled by something and that was the gesture he used when he was trying to find the right words to say. "Out with it, Alistair," she said, reaching over and giving him a friendly poke on his arm. "I know that look. What's on your mind?"

"I still can't keep anything from you, can I? Am I that transparent?"

Lhiannon laughed lightly, Alistair quickly joining in, "We spent a long time together, Alistair. I can still read you like a book."

"If we didn't need you in Amaranthine so badly, I'd have you at court. Anora and I would greatly benefit by your presence there." His eyes flicked to where Loghain rode next to the carriage. "I know Anora would be pleased to have her father in Denerim as well."

Lhiannon let her gaze linger on her new husband for a moment before returning her attention to Alistair. "Perhaps we can travel to Denerim more often once the baby arrives. Loghain would never admit it openly, but he is excited to be a grandfather." She paused a moment, thinking of the conversation she and Loghain had been having just before the King arrived. "He will likely want to travel to Denerim more often, but he's concerned about me going to the capital."

"You? Why?"

"Loghain is concerned about the Chantry." Lhiannon sighed, an exasperated gesture that served to fan the flames of her agitation. "I can hardly blame him though. It seems they are singularly focused on my status as Arlessa. We thought Vigil's Keep would be safe, yet an Andrastian zealot attacked me there."

Alistair's face darkened, his brows coming together. "Do you really think the attacker received his orders from the Chantry?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I just can't understand how they would order or condone that."

"We know he received his orders from Marjolaine," Lhiannon began, her voice low. "We're trying to determine who she received hers from."

"Any leads?"

Lhiannon nodded. "We have one that Leliana and Zevran are following up on."

Alistair's face lit up in understanding. "That's why they weren't at Vigil's Keep."

"Yes."

"You will be safe in Denerim, Lhi. I promise."

"Loghain isn't convinced. He has assigned a bodyguard to me and all but forbid me from going anywhere without him, another Warden, or my bodyguard. He's not willing to take chances with my safety."

"I just can't see the Chantry condoning such a thing as an assassination, but I'll call the Grand Cleric to the palace and demand an accounting," Alistair said, his voice hard. "I will not stand for attacks on my vassals and fellow Grey Wardens."

Lhiannon shook her head vehemently. "No, Alistair. You need to stay out of this as much as possible." She motioned Alistair closer and lowered her voice so that it was barely heard over the ambient noise around them. "You need to keep yourself and your family as neutral as possible. Don't attract their attention. You know they have power and will use it. You've seen it from the inside." She pulled her head away from his ear, looking intently into his eyes. "You nearly took your templar vows; you know that other than containing and hunting mages, they are an army. You've said it yourself."

With a sigh, Alistair sat straight in his saddle, his gaze moving to the grand carriage ahead of them. "I do think about them; about Anora and the future for our child. That's why I wanted to talk to you." He turned to look at Lhiannon and she could see the deep worry lines already crossing his young face. Whatever he wanted to discuss, Lhiannon could see it weighed heavily on him; she would not need to turn to her tainted senses for confirmation.

"Anora and I have already discussed some of what I want to speak with you about. I—_we_—value your insight greatly," Alistair began, his voice betraying his burden. "We felt it best to wait until after the wedding to speak to you about it. We didn't want to burden you and Loghain with this during your joyful time."

"We appreciate that," Lhiannon said, her voice becoming wary and a prickle running up her spine. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

"During our time gathering the armies to defeat the archdemon, it was very clear that Ferelden is horribly divided. We thought we could unite Ferelden against the Blight—and we did—but it fell apart the minute you buried that sword into Urthemiel's head."

Lhiannon found herself nodding in agreement. If she needed any convincing regarding Alistair's words, she only needed to look as far as the Chantry. They praised her as she and Alistair gathered the armies and fought the Blight. They praised her for uniting Ferelden at the Landsmeet. They praised her as she lay unconscious for days after killing the archdemon. It all changed when Anora appointed her Arlessa of Amaranthine and Warden Commander of Ferelden.

"Unfortunately, Alistair, you're right. Loghain has also said similar things regarding how quickly people forget such unity after the threat of danger has passed."

A slight grimace crossed Alistair's features, quickly followed by a mischievous wink. "You mean to tell me I agreed with Loghain on something? What is the world coming to?"

"Oh come on," Lhiannon said, reaching over to playfully slap at the King's arm, "it's not the end of the world to agree with him; he is a pragmatic man who sees much."

The King snorted and chuckled. "Well, stranger things have happened. In any case, Ferelden _is_ divided; we are a nation with clear divisions among its people. Humans rule, sometimes crushing others underfoot just because they can. Elves live in squalor in the alienages or wander aimlessly through the land, sometimes causing unrest when they venture onto claimed lands to hunt or camp. You know firsthand about the Chantry and mages. With our nation so divided, it's a miracle outsiders have not taken advantage of our weakness."

As Alistair paused for her to consider his words, Lhiannon's mind began to turn. She had an idea of where Alistair's conversation was headed. "I think Loghain needs to hear this as well, if only because he has a vested interest in what you are likely going to say since the Queen and your child are of his blood."

Alistair frowned slightly. "Alistair," Lhiannon began, "Loghain will hear what you say from me as soon as we are finished speaking here. Best he hears whatever you have to say firsthand."

With reluctance, Alistair nodded, knowing that Lhiannon had a point. It was even possible that Anora could be broaching the subject with her father at this very moment despite her increasing discomfort. Lhiannon called out to Loghain, who held up a hand in acknowledgement. Lhiannon saw him gesture back toward them with his head, quickly finishing his conversation with Anora before slowing his warhorse and returning to Lhiannon's side. "Am I to presume we are resuming our earlier argument?"

"No," Lhiannon said, gesturing to the King on her other side. "Alistair was looking to discuss Ferelden's future with me, but I asked that you hear it firsthand rather than from me later."

Loghain's brows shifted upward, curious at what the King had on his mind. When speaking to Anora moments before, he was more concerned about her condition than anything else. She was very uncomfortable and had called for Anders to make sure all was well with the baby. Anders—sitting across from the Queen in the carriage and reading a book—assured Loghain that Anora and the baby were fine and that her discomfort was normal. Anora told Loghain that Anders had cast a rejuvenation spell on her, which helped immensely. It was only moments after he and Anora began to talk that Lhiannon called Loghain back to where she and the King were traveling.

"Go on," he prompted the King tersely.

Alistair took a deep breath, shifting slightly in his saddle before speaking. "As I was telling Lhi a few minutes ago, I see Ferelden divided once more, the alliances and unity brought about by the common fight against the archdemon and the Blight forgotten. I do not wish to see this division among the people continue into the next generation. I have to think about our heirs."

"The heir will be here if you don't quickly get to the point," Loghain said, the irritation and impatience clear in his voice. Lhiannon shot a look at Loghain, which he promptly ignored. Alistair scoffed lightly before continuing.

"As I was saying, we need to stop being divisive. All this division will do is make us appear weak to those who would take advantage of us after the Blight. We need to be united and strong again. Therefore, I intend to put forth several issues at the Landsmeet for the people to consider."

Lhiannon felt her brows lift skyward at Alistair's words, feeling wary of the King once more. "What issues are you referring to?"

"Well," Alistair began, once more running his hand through his hair, "you know how the Dalish helped us during the fight against the archdemon? I think they need to be rewarded for their help. They have been mistreated long enough. I intend to propose giving them their own land in the Brecilian forest; an arling that they can settle as they see fit and an arl or arlessa to represent them in Denerim."

Lhiannon felt Loghain's tension rise through their shared taint. She glanced at him, watching as he clutched the reins of his warhorse so tightly that the leather palms of his gauntlets squeaked audibly. She turned back to Alistair, who was holding a hand up. "I know what you're thinking; you're thinking I've gone mad. But I've thought about this a lot and discussed it with Anora as well. Listen and I'll tell you our reasoning."

"We're listening…"

Alistair nodded as if encouraging himself. "Okay then. You know that many of the nobles don't care for the Dalish traveling through their lands and some will even run them off when they spot them. It's caused a lot of tension between the nobles and the elves and I don't want to see any more internal skirmishes flare up. There are large parts of the Brecilian Forest that are uninhabited and have been so for decades. They prefer the forest, so why not let them utilize it? They can have their safe settlements and the Crown would not be opposed to helping establish them as a show of good faith."

"You know that the reason the forest is largely uninhabited is because of the tales of the Veil being torn asunder there," Loghain said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Few people will venture there with the rumors and tales of demons haunting the forest. It took years for the rumors to fade that the Brecilian Passage to Gwaren was haunted." Loghain then slashed his hand through the air. "There is also the issue of the blighted land; will they see being granted blighted lands as an insult?"

Alistair held up a finger. "From what I understand, not all of the forest is blighted. I know the areas around the breach will be, but I spoke to Nathaniel of his trip to see the Dalish before we left the Vigil; he also said not all of the forest is blighted. As for the rumors of the forest being haunted—sure, there are dangerous areas of the forest, but what part of Ferelden _doesn't _have such places? We cleaned out the Tevinter ruins there and ended the werewolf curse. Besides, the Dalish clans have been there for years already; they know how to protect themselves."

Lhiannon held a hand out, gesturing as she spoke. "But what will the nobles say when you appoint an elf Arl or Arlessa? Some may be accepting, but many won't like having an elf seen as an equal."

"It's just one area of the country," Alistair insisted firmly, "besides, will any of the nobles be willing allow them to settle in _their_ lands? No, giving them their own land and representation in Denerim is a compromise that I think will benefit both of our peoples."

Loghain's eyes narrowed at the King. "And Anora agrees with this?"

Alistair nodded. "It took some convincing, but she can also see the benefits of such an arrangement. She also said that if they can establish their communities and prosper, that would generate more revenue for the crown."

"So long as they agree," Lhiannon said.

"Well, she _did_ say that as well," Alistair said, shrugging sheepishly. "Anora feels that there may be some resistance from the elves, but it's my hope they will agree that this is an arrangement that can benefit all of Ferelden."

Lhiannon took a deep breath, exhaling through her nose in an effort to push her reservations away. "The Chantry will likely give you pushback for such a pronouncement, especially if you allow them to worship their own gods and exercise their own culture. The Chantry will not like the fact that heathen elves have a new homeland within Andraste's ancestral homeland."

The King sighed, gently brushing his forehead with his hand. "Perhaps the Chantry needs to learn tolerance," Alistair said quietly. Both Lhiannon and Loghain looked at him with varying degrees of disbelief. It was, they both realized, one of the last things they ever expected to hear the former templar-in-training say.

"This is new," Loghain said, his eyes narrowing, his voice nonplussed.

"Since when have you decided the Chantry was intolerant?" Lhiannon asked, her voice cautious. _Didn't he just say not an hour ago that he couldn't believe the Chantry would condone the attempt on my life?_

"Since I have seen their irrational fear of you," Alistair said, turning his head and looking at both Lhiannon and Loghain with resignation. "I can see that their actions have been hypocritical, as much as I didn't _want_ to see it. It was Anora who pointed it out to me one evening not long ago. I shut it out. I didn't want to believe her; I thought she was just being paranoid…" Alistair paused, his shoulders slumping slightly as he sighed again. "I didn't want to believe it, but I can't deny it to myself any longer."

"You realize that this will throw your neutrality regarding the Chantry in doubt," Loghain said, pointing his finger at the King in emphasis. "The Commander and I have advised you to remain neutral and have done our best to make sure you stay that way in the Chantry's eyes. You would throw such neutrality out the window?" Loghain scoffed loudly. "Bah! You speak of unity, but what you suggest will serve to create a great chasm between the monarchy and Chantry, not to mention among the nobility."

"They have already questioned the Crown's neutrality. Ferelden is _not_ a theocracy, Loghain! I will _not_ see it become one!"

Lhiannon held up her hands, silently imploring the men to remain calm and keep their voices down. Already, several of the soldiers traveling nearby had cocked their ears toward the three of them, curious as to what the King and the Arl and Arlessa of Amaranthine could be arguing about.

"Loghain has a point, Alistair," Lhiannon said, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "You risk dividing the nation based on religion at the time you are looking for unity. While some will welcome the change, others will vehemently oppose it."

"Well, if I'm going to anger the Chantry with that pronouncement," Alistair began, snorting in wry amusement as he looked toward Lhiannon and Loghain once more, "I'll surely burn every bridge with the other pronouncement I plan on making at the Landsmeet."

Loghain scoffed again, shaking his head slowly. "The only other thing that could serve to completely sever relations between the Crown and the Chantry would entail outright freeing the mages from Chantry oversight."

"Well…"

Turning her head to the King, Lhiannon felt her mouth gape open. "You intend to free the mages?" she whispered in disbelief. She heard Loghain scoff loudly from next to her.

"I _was_ planning on giving the mages limited autonomy in Ferelden," Alistair said quietly, his eyes locking onto Lhiannon's. "I thought about having institutions for mages in the major cities where mage children could attend classes like non-mage children and remain with their families. I think strong family ties will be a great benefit to young mages and will make them less likely to lash out at the Chantry and templars. Those children that are, well, given up by their families would still go to Kinloch Hold. The Crown would establish institutions where adult mages—and even non mages—could study magic and its principles. Blood magic would, of course, remain illegal and subject to punishment, as would any priest or templar crimes against mages. The mages would be equals with the Chantry priests and templars within the institutions as opposed to the Chantry having the final word. Most magic shouldn't be feared; it has great benefits."

"And great dangers, the Chantry will argue," Loghain growled.

Lhiannon felt a prickle in the taint from nearby. She tilted her head to the side as she worked to interpret it. It was not darkspawn, of that she was certain, but as to what exactly it was, she could not be sure. Perhaps it was the conflicting emotions she received from Loghain and Alistair. "Some of that danger is due to mages being oppressed by the Chantry and templars; believe me, I know it well. Fear and desperation drive mages to dark things."

"And that is why the fear needs to be taken away," Alistair said. "Besides, you have to break eggs to make an omelet, Lhi. I _know _Ferelden will benefit greatly from these things in time…"

A shrill scream pierced the air ahead of them. Lhiannon whipped her head from side to side, seeking the cause of the scream. Both Loghain and Alistair turned to look at the other, Alistair's eyes wide while Loghain's eyes narrowed. "Anora…" they both said in unison, kicking their horses forward to catch up with the carriage ahead. Lhiannon watched as Anders stuck his head out one of the side windows, bellowing loudly for the King. She realized then that the prickle in the taint she felt earlier was from Anders.

Lhiannon kicked her horse forward to where one of the signal men rode nearby. "Send up the signal for the group to stop," she quickly ordered, continuing toward the carriage carrying the Queen. As Lhiannon neared the carriage, she could hear the signalers take up her order, passing it through the ranks as shouts of "stop" rang out among the men and women accompanying them. Loghain and Alistair had already pulled their horses alongside the stopped carriage and had dismounted, each standing at a door and peering inside. Lhiannon quickly dismounted from her horse and ran to Loghain's side, poking her head into the carriage.

Anora was clutching her stomach and panting heavily, a sheen of sweat covering her exposed skin. Anders knelt in front of her, his hands glowing blue-white as he cast a rejuvenation and healing spell on the Queen, seeking to ease her pain as much as possible. He paused in his chanting when he sensed the other Wardens around him. "The child is coming. We need to get the Queen to her birthing room, if possible. I can cast haste on the horses drawing the carriage, but it will be a bumpy ride."

Alistair looked across the carriage to where Lhiannon stood with Loghain. "You know a haste spell; can your spell augment Anders' spell?"

Lhiannon nodded quickly. "Yes, we can stack our spells." She turned her head to Loghain beside her. "How far we are from Denerim?"

Moving several steps away from the carriage, Loghain looked at the countryside around them for a moment before returning to Lhiannon's side. "Judging from the landmarks and how far we are from the last settlement, I would say perhaps a quarter day. How soon can your spells get us within the palace?"

Turning her head back to Anders, Lhiannon did a quick calculation. "If we stack our spells, we can be to the palace within a couple of hours, don't you think?"

"Yes, I think we can," Anders agreed, turning to the Queen once more. "I must remind you that it will be a _very_ bumpy ride, Your Majesty. I can help with your pain a bit as we travel, but only I can do so much. The child will come when it's ready; not even my magic can delay that."

Shifting slightly in her seat and grimacing, Anora picked up a small handkerchief that lay on the seat next to her and dabbed her damp forehead. "I would rather we get within the walls of Denerim. The thought of having the child along the side of the road does not sit well with me."

"I agree," Loghain said emphatically. "The safety of my daughter and her child is paramount."

"Then cast your spells," Alistair ordered, quickly peeling off his armor and shoving the pieces into a small storage trunk attached to the back of the carriage. Lhiannon and Loghain quickly moved to help him, making short work of the golden armor. Alistair climbed into the carriage and sat next to Anora, grasping her hand in both of his. "Get us to Denerim so that we can welcome this baby properly."

* * *

_So much for making my chapters shorter. This chapter kept going and going and going... _

_Could Alistair be opening a can of worms? Or a few? Will he REALLY suggest such radical ideas to the men and women of the Landsmeet? And what of Eamon and his apparent transformation? We'll have to wait for the answers._

_I have a poll posted out on my profile page regarding a third long story that I'm contemplating writing. I'd love your opinion so if you feel so inclined, please head over to my profile page and make your selection. Thanks!_

_Special thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, cloud1004, Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, Arsinoe, Dante Alighieri, Psyche Sinclair (what a marathon reader!), icey, Kendoka Girl, naomis8329, Ventisquear, and Tyanilth. You all rock!_

_Thanks to all the quiet readers as well. I appreciate the time you give to me with each chapter. :)_


	33. Pain

_A/N, part one: WARNINGS for swearing and some violence in this chapter, including mild torture. If such things may make you uncomfortable, please skip the second section of this chapter; I'll be happy to give you a summary of the section in a PM. I've noted the first phrase of the section to skip in _**bold** _type._

_We'll talk more at the end of the chapter._

* * *

As the walls of Denerim came into view, the Queen's water broke. Lhiannon opened her eyes, continuing to murmur the haste spell in unison with Anders as she looked between Alistair and Anora. She raised her brows at the monarchs as she continued casting, silently hoping they understood her unspoken question. The chanting of the haste spell served to deter Lhiannon from her anger at Loghain; she was furious with him for going around her authority once again in the matter of the bodyguards. While she understood his very legitimate reasons for employing bodyguards, she was angry that he decided to secure them without speaking to her about it first. That anger, however, was overshadowed for the moment by the joy growing from the imminent birth of Calenhad's heir.

"My waters have broken," Anora panted heavily, grimacing as a new, far more intense wave of pain gripped her.

Anders stopped his chanting, reaching forward to touch the Queen's stomach. He closed his eyes in concentration, his hands outlined in a soft blue glow as he focused on the coming heir. He pulled back after a moment, sticking his head out the open window to speak to Loghain on his horse outside.

"How far to the palace?"

"Not long, about fifteen minutes," Loghain said, his gaze flicking between the road ahead and the mage speaking. "Haste may not be prudent while traveling through the streets of the capital. I would not wish to injure anyone, though we must get to the palace quickly."

Anders nodded, pulling his head back into the carriage. "Loghain says we are about fifteen minutes from the palace. It will be close, Your Majesties."

"I'm not sure I can wait that long," Anora panted, a grimace crossing her face once more as her contractions came closer and stronger. "I will feel the need to push very soon, if my pains are any indication." The Queen looked to both Anders and Lhiannon as she grimaced through her pain. "You both will attend me; while my midwives are competent, I want you both there."

"Of course," Lhiannon agreed, looking to Anders as he was nodding emphatically. The sounds of the cobblestone streets quickly filled the carriage as they passed through the gates, Loghain bellowing orders to the city guard to take up the call to clear the city streets on the road to the palace. Lhiannon heard the shouts of men and the blaring of horns as the signal was passed. The driver of their carriage maneuvered through the chaotic streets, shouting for the people to quickly move out of the way. Within moments, the carriage pulled to a rough halt near the stables of the palace, a service door leading inside not far away. Loghain leapt from his horse, quickly moving to the door and opening it as Anders and Alistair carried the Queen through and inside.

"I need to push!"

"But we're not near the birthing room," Alistair said, trying to hold his writhing wife as still as possible as he and Anders quickly and carefully moved through the palace. "We need to get you there!"

"The child is coming, Alistair! _I have to push…NOW!"_

Lhiannon skirted by Alistair and Anders, looking in doorways for a place they could quickly take the Queen. The first doorway led to a weapons room for the palace guard. She was going to suggest moving on but when the Queen wailed in pain, she thought better of it.

"In here," Lhiannon said, her voice carrying the weight of command. "This is the best we can do."

As Alistair and Anders carried the Queen inside, Loghain ran toward a table on the far wall, sweeping off all the weapons and cleaning supplies and pulling the table out toward the center of the room. Lhiannon saw a basket of clean rags nearby and grabbed it, dumping several of the largest cloths on the table as Anora was perched near the end.

"Loghain, get onto the table behind Anora and support her," Anders directed, pushing up the Queens skirts and pulling her smallclothes off. "Alistair, Lhiannon; each of you support one of her legs." Anders' orders were quickly followed as he positioned himself between the Queen's legs. "Your Majesty, I need to check the baby's progress. I'll be brief."

Anora yelped in pain as Anders pushed her skirts farther back and examined her. He looked to the Queen after a moment. "Your child is almost here, Your Majesty. Do you feel you must push?"

"_Yes!"_

"Then push, Your Majesty, and bring your child into the world!"

Anora pushed, her growls of exertion matched by the tensing of her legs. Lhiannon and Alistair found they had to brace themselves strongly against the floor. Loghain too had to brace himself as best he could, holding his daughter upright from behind as she curled up and pushed with all her might.

"The head is nearly out," Anders exclaimed, "you can do it. Just a few more."

Anora shouted in her exertion, the sweat running down her forehead in rivulets as she continued to push. She took a deep breath as the next contraction hit, curling up and pushing once more, resting back against Loghain as her contractions eased.

"The head and shoulders are out," Alistair said, his excitement evident despite his squeamishness at the situation. "The babe is almost here!"

Taking a deep breath, Anora curled up and pushed again. Anders encouraged her, sending small waves of healing magic into the Queen just before baby finally broke free from the womb and slid into his waiting arms. Anders quickly turned the baby, using a rag to clean out the nose and mouth before gently running it over the child's body. A small, shrill cry sounded in the room. Lhiannon turned from where Anders held the child to look at Loghain, smiling at her husband's look of simple joy at the sound of the baby's cry. His eyes met hers, his joy at the baby's cry temporarily overriding her simmering anger at Loghain. Lhiannon's eyes fell to the Queen, whose face shone with both sweat and tears as she held an arm out for her child. Alistair lowered Anora's leg, moving to take Loghain's place behind Anora as Anders wrapped a rag around the child, but not before showing the King and Queen their heir.

"It's a girl, Your Majesties." With a wide grin, Anders handed the infant girl to the Queen, who cradled the child close. Alistair wrapped his arms around the Queen, a long finger brushing his daughter's fair skin. Her tiny head was covered in a mass of golden hair, her eyes a dark blue. Lhiannon could see the child carried a finer version of her grandfather's prominent nose. She felt Loghain move behind her, his arms coming around her waist as they looked at their new granddaughter.

"Welcome to Ferelden, Gearoidin Nerys Mac Tir Theirin," Anora crooned, her finger finding a tiny hand, the tiny fingers wrapping around the Queen's delicate finger. She looked up at Alistair, then to Anders, Lhiannon, and Loghain. "We'll call her Nerys."

Stepping forward, Loghain moved Lhiannon close to little Nerys, who had settled into her mother's arms and calmed. Loghain leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to the child's head. "Welcome, little Nerys." He then turned to Anora, his lips brushing her cheek. "I'm very proud of you."

"Come," Anders said quietly, his hand gently resting on Lhiannon's arm. "Let us leave them alone for a few minutes." With a nod, Lhiannon leaned over and brushed her lips against Nerys' forehead before following Anders and Loghain from the training room.

It was fitting, Loghain thought, that his granddaughter was born in a room that helped to develop warriors. A strong girl, he was convinced she would be. With the blood of Thereins and Mac Tirs running through her, Loghain had little doubt about the strength and potential she carried within her. At long last, his and Maric's blood were joined in the tiny girl in the room behind him. Loghain's heart swelled with pride…

…until Lhiannon turned to face him and Anders in the hallway just beyond the door, bright anger in her eyes replacing the joy of moments ago. "Find Oghren and report to the Warden compound within the palace district. _Now." _Lhiannon turned on her heel and stalked away, not stopping until she reached the commander's office within the compound.

* * *

**Teagan watched the stars revolve slowly above him**, the pinpricks of light easily visible with the full darkness. A small campfire burned nearby and did little to push the darkness back to the perimeter of the small camp. Several of Eamon's guards circled the camp, a wary eye on the two figures seated on ragged bedrolls near the fire. Eamon had ordered their tents taken down and confiscated, not trusting his "guests" in the privacy of their own tents. Joining the surly guards were equally surly templars, standing stiffly at precise intervals around the campfire, no doubt glaring at Teagan and Raelyn from behind their full helmets as if they expected an attack at any moment.

Teagan's hands were tightly bound in front of him, the rough ropes chafing the skin of his wrists. He could feel dampness on his skin from where the wounds caused by the ropes were already weeping and stinging. It did nothing to ease the pain he also felt on his left cheek, a wound given to him by one of the curt templars. When they had approached him and Raelyn with the ropes, Teagan angrily resisted, demanding that Eamon tell him why he and Raelyn had to be bound like prisoners if they were, in fact, Eamon's guests. The templar gave Teagan a swift backhanded slap, the metal of the gauntlet striking him causing his vision to explode in bright stars and his skin to feel as if it were set aflame. Eamon dismissed the templar, taking the ropes and binding Teagan's wrists himself, telling the younger Guerein they were for his "protection." What protection, and whose, appeared to be for Eamon and not Teagan or Raelyn.

Tearing his gaze away from his own wrists, Teagan turned his head and looked with concern at Raelyn, who was laying on her side only a few paces away, her face pale and breathing shallow as she stared listlessly into the fire. She was having a much rougher time that Teagan was, simply because she was a mage. Where Teagan's hands had been bound in front of him, Raelyn's had been bound behind her, ropes not only securing her wrists, but other ropes lashing her arms tightly to her, rendering them immobile. Raelyn's eyes had gone wide with fear and anger as the templars approached her and she tried to fight them off. Before Teagan could warn her to not resist, two more templars rushed in, roughly laying their hands on her and draining her mana in seconds. Her eyes had rolled up into her head and she began to shake as they held her, chanting verses from the Canticle of Transfigurations as they drained her. Her knees buckled beneath her and she fell to the ground, where the templars quickly and tightly bound her. Raelyn came to moments later; they sat her up and threatened to silence her if she spoke. Since then, the templars regularly drained her of mana, leaving her weak, exhausted, and barely able to sit upright.

Teagan scooted closer to where Raelyn's head lay on the bare ground, bits of dirt and grass clinging to the auburn locks. Teagan reached over with his bound hands and lightly brushed her head. "Are you all right?" His voice was low and soft, seeking to give his friend comfort.

Raelyn's eyes shifted upward toward Teagan's touch, unfocused for a moment before recognition dawned on her face. She offered him a weak smile, grimacing as she moved her head to look upon Teagan more directly. "I've been better," she said, her voice a weak shadow of its normal boisterousness.

"Can I do anything for you? I can try and talk sense into Eamon."

A grim smile crossed Raelyn's pale face. "I doubt he or his men would listen, Teagan. I think the templars are actually enjoying themselves, seeing me convulse and drool when they drain me." She snorted lightly, a sardonic chuckle escaping her chapped lips. "At least I haven't pissed or shit myself yet, though if they keep up their pace, I just might."

"Silence, mage!"

Teagan turned to see one of the nearby templars glaring at them, a hand on the hilt of the sword belted to his side while the other hand held what appeared to be prayer beads. "Keep your tongue still, mage, or it shall be kept still for you."

"Bastards," Teagan muttered under his breath, his fingers lightly stroking Raelyn's head in a show of support. They stayed silent for several minutes, waiting for the templar to begin his prayers again. After several minutes, they saw the prayer beads shift in the templar's hand as he resumed his prayers.

"I think Sigrun got away," Raelyn said, her voice a whisper scarcely heard over the crackling of the flames next to them. Teagan saw her lips barely moving as she spoke. He tilted his ear closer, straining to hear her speaking without drawing unnecessary attention from the nearby templars.

"How?"

"I'm not sure," Raelyn muttered quietly, "I sensed something through the taint. I'm not sure what exactly she was trying to tell me, but it felt confident and hopeful."

"Where do you think she went? We're still almost three days from Denerim by horseback, almost a week from Vigil's Keep if one sticks to the roads."

With a small shrug, Raelyn shook her head slightly beneath Teagan's fingertips. "Knowing her, she's going to find the Wardens. Since the closest one is in Denerim, I imagine she would go there."

"Denerim?" Teagan said, his brows lowering and his voice nonplussed. "But why…wait, that actually makes a bit of sense."

Raelyn's eyes shifted up toward Teagan again. "What are you thinking?"

Pulling his fingers away from Raelyn's head, Teagan began to tick off his thoughts on them. "Sigrun knew we were headed for South Reach if at all possible. Since Eamon knew where to find us, he likely has informants there. He hasn't asked us about her, so I'm hoping he doesn't know she was with us; Eamon knows of Sigrun from Isolde's attack on the Warden Commander."

"So you also think she'll pass South Reach and opt for Denerim?"

Teagan nodded slightly. "I do. I don't think she would head to Dragon's Peak to speak with Sighard, not with Denerim so close. I think she'll go directly there. She and the King know each other from the Wardens, so she likely sees that as her best opportunity." Teagan paused briefly. "I hope Sighard realizes something is amiss when we don't show."

Raelyn shifted her head to look at Teagan directly. "Then we should avoid mentioning…"

A pair of heavily armored hands reached down and hauled Raelyn to her feet. She yelped in pain and protest as a templar held her tightly in front of him, his armored hands digging into her flesh. "You were told to keep your tongue still and you refused. Now it shall be kept still for you."

Struggling to his feet, Teagan felt his anger boil to the surface. "Let her go! Bring the Arl here so I can speak to him!"

Four more templars made their way over to the fire, two of them grabbing and restraining Teagan. He watched the other two templars approach, his eyes widening in horror as he saw a ghastly device in the hands of one of them. It appeared to be made of leather straps with a metal plate attached, the plate itself covered with small, sharp spikes. The templars approached Raelyn, who began to struggle wildly as they drew closer, kicking at and thrashing against the templars. Her voice filled with fear and anger, her words shouted at the templars approaching her. "_No!_ Keep that thing away from me! Don't you _fucking _touch me with…"

Teagan saw the air ripple around Raelyn as one of the templars laid his hands on her, the armor covering them glowing white as he drained her mana. Realyn's eyes rolled back into her skull and her body went slack, supported only by the other two templars holding her. The templar that drained her mana pulled on her jaw, opening Raelyn's slack mouth. Teagan saw her begin to struggle weakly as the templar inserted the spiked metal plate, firmly closing her mouth on it. Her eyes squeezed shut and her face wrinkled in a grimace, her breath huffing out her nose.

"_No! Leave her be!" _Teagan struggled wildly in the grip of the templars that held him as he heard Raelyn's whimpers of pain and saw a trickle of blood flow down her chin from the corner of her mouth. The strong blow of an armored hand into his kidneys sent Teagan to his knees, bright white stars swimming in his vision as he fought to gather his breath. He looked up as he heard Raelyn's muffled whimpers of pain. The templar before her wound the leather straps of the device tightly around and over her head, holding her jaw shut and securing the vicious metal plate in place. The click of a tiny lock at the back of her head ensured no one would remove the device. Teagan saw Raelyn's eyes open, bright tears streaming down her face as her pain and shame were laid bare for all to see. The templars began to chant in unison from the Canticle of Transfigurations as Raelyn continued to silently weep, her eyes squeezing shut and her body trembling as they spoke.

"_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond."_

After finishing their incantation, the templars roughly pushed Raelyn to the ground next to Teagan before walking away. She rolled onto her side and curled up into a ball as best she could, pulling her knees toward her chest and lowering her head toward them. Teagan crawled over to the silently weeping mage, gently brushing her mussed hair from her eyes as best he could around the leather straps encircling her head. She averted her eyes, squeezing them tightly shut as the tears streamed down her face and her shoulders shook beneath him. He did not need the taint to sense the anger and shame burning within her. "I'm so sorry, Raelyn," Teagan whispered in her ear, his fingers brushing the skin of her face as he rested his forehead on her. "I'm so sorry. I'll find a way to release you…"

"I am sorry we had to resort to such strict measures to protect ourselves."

Teagan whirled his head about and watched as Eamon approached; the Arl's face a mask of stone. "Why have you done this to Raelyn? You have known her for _years_." Teagan kept his hands on Raelyn as he shouted his rage at Eamon, his anger making his blood boil. He could feel the rage darkening his face, the heat of his anger filling his body. "She is a competent mage who only uses her magic for the betterment and protection of all. _I demand that you remove that Maker cursed device!"_

"Teagan, you are in no position to demand anything." Eamon cast a disgusted glance to the weeping Raelyn before returning his attention to Teagan. "She must be kept silent so that she cannot weave her foul magics. She had been warned to keep her tongue and she disobeyed."

"She's bound, you damned fool! How is she to cast any spells with her hands and arms bound behind her?"

"The templars assure me some mages can indeed cast minor spells even when bound. We cannot take that chance. For our protection, and hers, she must be silenced."

"Then silence me as well, for she will not suffer alone and I will not cooperate with whatever schemes you and _your_ keepers have concocted."

Eamon's eyes widened at his brother. "No, Teagan. That device is meant to keep the depravity of magic from harming others. It is a painful device, meant to remind mages of the consequences their magic has had on the Maker's children. It is also meant to protect us."

Rage and horror filled Teagan, aghast at what Eamon was apparently condoning. "_You're torturing her!"_ His angry roar caused Raelyn to shudder beneath his hands. This was not the Eamon he grew up with, the Eamon he looked up to as the elder brother. This man was a stranger. "Do you not think I know what a mage's bridle is? _These bloody templars are torturing her and you are allowing it! _Since when do you condone such a thing? How does intentionally inflicting pain on her protect her or anyone else?_"_

Eamon ignored the remark and instead held up a small pack that Teagan immediately recognized as Sigrun's. "We know the dwarf was traveling with you. Where is she?"

Looking down at Raelyn, Teagan saw her reddened eyes looking up at him. She shook her head slightly at him and it was then he realized what she was going to tell him before her brutalization at the templars' hands.

_We should avoid mentioning Sigrun._

Teagan set his shoulders as looked at Raelyn, nodding his understanding. Sigrun was their hope; Teagan was beginning to realize just how precarious their situation had rapidly become. Would they even see Denerim? The chances of that appeared to be dwindling with each passing moment, especially with the treatment of Raelyn. Teagan resolved that he would not betray his little friend Sigrun and he would not abandon Raelyn to whatever despicable fate these templars had planned for her just to cooperate with Eamon and save his own skin. The thought filled him with dread, but betraying and abandoning his friends was far worse. He would delay Eamon to keep Sigrun safe. He would share Raelyn's fate so that she would not suffer alone.

"I do not know what you are talking about," Teagan said, his voice cold and hard as he looked at the stranger with his brother's face.

Eamon's face hardened, two splotches of pink forming on his grizzled cheeks. "Teagan, I ask you to reconsider. Please cooperate; if you do not, you will force me to hand you over to the templars. I assure you, they do not take kindly to those that collaborate with apostate mages."

"Apostate mages," Teagan scoffed angrily, his fingers gently stroking Raelyn's shoulders in a show of support. "Raelyn is no more an apostate than you are a woman. She has been in my employ for years; a trusted advisor and friend. You _know_ her."

"Where is the dwarf? I will not ask a third time. Teagan, do not force me to turn you over to the templars. Answer the question, for your sake."

"Will you release Raelyn?"

"You know I cannot do that. The templars would never condone it."

Teagan paused, hoping his pleas would be heard. "Release her, Eamon, _please_, I beg you. Let us go. Whatever you may be thinking, I am still your brother and Raelyn is my friend. Please, Eamon. Whatever it is you're planning, don't _do_ this."

Eamon's face darkened as he pointed an accusatory finger at Teagan. "The man that was my brother was lost at Redcliffe when he sided with mages that openly defy the Maker's teachings. Mages can never be our friends; they are far too dangerous, especially the one in Amaranthine. She sows the seeds of discontent among all those who would flagrantly ignore the Maker's teachings. Magic will be our downfall. Magic took my only son and heir from me and his mother." Turning his head, he beckoned several templars forward. "This man will not help in our just cause. I give him to you until his fate can be decided."

"Your Grace, we shall secure him until then, as befitting a collaborator. His pain will serve to bring him back to the Maker's path and light."

Teagan kept his icy gaze locked on Eamon, remaining stoic and silent as the templars pulled him to his feet and cut his bonds. They moved his hands behind his back and lashed them tightly in place as they had with Raelyn. When they approached with a mage's bridle, Teagan felt his stomach drop at the sight, but willingly allowed the templars to secure the device to him. The pain was immediate and severe, nearly causing Teagan's knees to buckle beneath him. The acrid taste of blood and metal filled his mouth as the templars pushed him to the ground next to Raelyn. As he landed next to her and tried to cope with the pain, Teagan watched as Raelyn turned toward him, the strain and effort evident on her pale, pain stricken face. Teagan saw her eyes fill with tears as she looked at him and shook her head sadly. Teagan pushed himself forward, resting his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, feeling her tremble against him.

_I won't let you suffer alone._

* * *

Sigrun guided her horse through the fields off the West Road, staying well north of the worn path yet always keeping it in sight whenever she could. It was full dark, a bright moon hanging in the sky and providing enough light so that she could finally maneuver through the open fields yet keep the road in sight. The clouds that had obscured the sky earlier in the day finally cleared not long before, taking the light breeze with them.

She had been on the road itself for most of the night, pushing her skittish mare as far as she dared. Butterflies fluttered wildly in Sigrun's stomach, not only because of how high she was off the ground on the mare, but also because she did not know if the templars had discovered her missing. Her heart ached for Teagan and Raelyn and the guilt she was now feeling at leaving them behind threatened to overwhelm her. It had been many hours since the part of the taint that was Raelyn fell silent with distance. Sigrun knew it was a game of predator and prey she was playing; her fight or flight response was well honed from her time in the Deep Roads with the Legion of the Dead. At times, she had been the predator, other times prey. This night, however, she definitely felt like prey. She and the templars were likely engaged in a game of cat and mouse and it was still terribly unclear as to who would win this particular contest.

_Focus, Sigrun! Eyes on the prize. Have to get help. Teagan and Rae are depending on you._

All Sigrun knew of her location was that South Reach was just ahead, based on the signpost along the road pointing the way toward both South Reach and a small settlement that lay to the south. The ground was still soft from the rains of earlier in the day and it made progress down the West Road slower than she had hoped. Had the rains not fallen, she could have traveled parallel to the road to minimize her contact with other travelers and likely covered more distance. Fortunately, traffic on the road had been sparse and with her hood pulled low over her head, her distinctive facial tattoos were well hidden from those passing by. Even still, it was clear that she was a dwarf riding a mare and that was an unusual enough sight to be noticed.

The feeling of urgency within Sigrun was growing in exponential proportions the longer she traveled on the road. Stopping at South Reach rather ride all the way to Denerim was an idea Sigrun considered as she raced along the road; she hoped Arl Bryland would remember her and offer his assistance when he learned of Teagan and Raelyn's plight. If he was reluctant to do that, perhaps he would be willing to send a message to Denerim via messaging bird. It was worth a shot.

Sigrun could see the waters of a pond just north of the signpost in the bright moonlight. Both she and the horse could use a cool drink and a brief rest. She guided the horse off the road, moving over to the far side of the pond, putting it between her and the road. The trees grew nearly to the shoreline on the far side of the pond, the lowest branches dipping into the water. The mare was noticeably grateful for the water and the grasses that grew along the edge, drinking deeply and grazing as Sigrun tied off the reins and drank some of the cool, clear water herself. After drinking deeply, Sigrun brought handfuls of the water up to her face to both clean off the grime and clear her head. As she used the hem of her shirt to dry her face, she heard the pounding of approaching hoof beats on the nearby road. She froze, lowering herself to the ground as she saw several torches bobbing along at a rapid pace. The glint of the torchlight revealed silver armor and full face helmets on some of the riders, dreadfully familiar darkened armor on others. They told Sigrun all she needed to know.

Templars. Soldiers. Arl Eamon's men.

_Oh crap. Ancestor's tits. Maker's blue balls. All right, Sigrun, keep it together. Focus. Can't sense Raelyn, so that's not good. Probably scouts then. Probably looking for me. Shit. _

The templars stopped at the signpost, reading what was carved there. The rider that appeared to be the one in charge pulled something out of his saddlebag and motioned one of the torchbearers closer. Sigrun heard low voices discussing their location and realized they were consulting a map. With the night air as still as it was, their voices carried easily across the water.

"How far do you think we have to go, ser?"

"The Arl and the Knight Commander said to go as far as South Reach and wait for them there. They think the dwarf will be trying to contact Arl Bryland. We must intercept her, Maker guide us."

"How far are we from South Reach?"

"If it were daylight, we would be able to see the hills the city rests on from here."

They _were_ looking for her. Sigrun kept her body pressed close to the ground, her breath slow and deliberate so as not to make any noise. It worked both ways that if she could easily hear them, they would easily hear anything from her. The last thing she needed was armed templars and soldiers thinking there was something worth investigating on the far side of the nearby pond.

"Ser, look here."

Sigrun felt her stomach drop as one of the templars dismounted from his horse and took several tentative steps off the road, moving toward the opposite side of the pond from Sigrun. Her heart began to pound in her chest, her pulse pounding in her ears. She swore the human approaching the far side of the pond would hear it and call his companions over. There were half a dozen men all together; far too many for her to take on should she be discovered. Focusing on her skills learned in the Legion, she made herself dim, shrouding herself in a rogue's shadow. If they discovered her horse, she could move away under stealth, but it would be a serious blow to efforts to obtain help for Teagan and Raelyn. The thought of continuing to Denerim on foot was not appealing, for Arl Eamon and his men would surely beat her to the capital with their prisoners.

"What have you found?"

The man approaching from the far side of the pond was a templar, his silver armor gleaming in the bright moonlight. He stood at the edge before bending down, lifting his helmet off his face and taking a handful of the clear water. "A pond, ser. Should we take a moment to water the horses?"

"Brother Huw, come. We must be on our way. South Reach is not far away. They can have all the water they wish when we arrive. I want us to be at the Chantry there for sunrise services. While their services are not like those of our Chantry, we can still praise his name far from home."

"Praise the Maker. Praise His name and His Bride Andraste, she who found salvation through the flame."

The templar moved off the road and back to his horse, pulling himself into the saddle with a lithe grace that defied the heavy armor the man wore. With a whistle, the small group turned toward South Reach and moved off at a quick pace. Sigrun released her held breath and waited for what seemed like an eternity for the sounds of the templars and soldiers to fade into the distance. Her mind was racing like an animal caught in a trap, reluctant to move until she was sure they had not decided to double back and retrace their steps. Mentally calculating as she remained frozen, she thought she was still two days from Denerim if she traveled at a normal pace. This situation called for something far more urgent than a normal pace however. Not knowing how hard she could push her horse and for how long were questions for which Sigrun had no answer. Having magical abilities—like the ability to cast a haste spell—would be a gift from the ancestors right about now.

The moon had moved noticeably through the sky as Sigrun waited by the pond. The mare had long since finished drinking and nibbling on the sparse vegetation nearby and had decided to rest. There were still no signs of the templars or soldiers returning and Sigrun decided that she would try moving once again. Gently stroking the horse's neck, she hauled herself up into the saddle once more and began moving the horse through the fields, avoiding the road and giving South Reach a wide berth as she headed northeast toward the capital.

* * *

The Warden compound in the palace district was starting to show signs of its neglect after having been mostly vacant for the better part of two years. Lhiannon sighed as her gaze fell over the main hall, noticing small pinpricks of light coming through the ceiling where leaks had developed. Water stains graced the stone floor below them. When she sent her regular missive to Varel, she would ask him to send funds to the King so that his tradesmen could make the necessary repairs. Clearly, she would need to have a caretaker and staff assigned to the compound. She added that to her mental laundry list of items for Varel. Lhiannon hated having to seemingly dump these tasks on him, but she trusted his judgment implicitly in such matters.

Her feet took her through the main floor of the compound, carrying her toward the stairs that led to the rooms below. Dread built in her heart and stomach with every step she took into the depths of the building. She was angry at the Second Warden for going around her authority, but worried for her husband at the thought of the consequences. It was proving hard for Lhiannon to separate the Warden Commander from the Lady Mac Tir, the leader of the Grey Wardens from the wife that loved her husband with all her heart. For both of them, she needed to find that separation, no matter how difficult or conflicted it left her. Looking at the compound as she walked through it, she had found the personal quarters completely separate from the working areas; perhaps that was needed at Vigil's Keep as well.

Lhiannon's dread intensified as she looked about the room she found herself in. It was the dungeon of the compound, for lack of a better description. It was neat and orderly, unlike the dungeons she had seen in Redcliffe or Rendon Howe's Denerim estate during the Blight. Where those dungeons reeked of blood and despair, this dungeon was strangely neat and orderly. The cells were clean and the beds within neatly made, the pillows and blankets old but serviceable. Along one wall was a rack; a whip, strap, and cat o' nine tails hung neatly on hooks. The same wall had metal rings attached, shoulder width apart. Either the Wardens here had not needed these rooms often, or they dispensed their justice, wiped away the stains, and moved on, letting the transgressions die as the last of the punishments faded away.

She hoped she had the strength for this. Quashing her heart was proving to be nearly impossible.

Voices could be heard reverberating through the rooms above. Lhiannon turned and climbed the stairs, the apprehension and dread she thought could not possibly grow greater did in fact grow. Her heart sank as she heard Loghain's gruff voice. She steeled herself, attempting to push aside her personal feelings so that she could perform her duty as commander. She wanted nothing more than to just forget about her anger and rejoice with Loghain in little Neyrs' birth, but duty was duty and as he was fond of saying, she could not shirk it.

Lhiannon rounded the corner near the main hall, seeing Loghain there with Anders and Oghren. Maverlies and two other guards from Amaranthine stood nearby, quietly talking amongst themselves. They all abruptly ended their conversions when Lhiannon entered the hall.

"Second Warden Loghain, I would speak to you privately for a moment. Wardens Anders and Oghren, wait outside." She turned to look at Maverlies. "Sergeant, you and your men will also wait outside."

Lhiannon watched as Maverlies' eyes flicked to Loghain before returning to her. "With all due respect, Commander, my orders are to remain as close to you as possible."

"Well, since I walked to the compound unaccompanied," Lhiannon snapped bitterly, "I'd say you need to work on that. Wait outside. _Now."_

With a crisp bow and a look of quiet disbelief on her face, Maverlies motioned for her soldiers to follow. They exited the hall and Lhiannon was glad to see the Sergeant pull the double doors nearly closed behind her. Lhiannon turned on her heel and motioned for Loghain to follow her to a corner of the hall away from where Anders and Oghen stood just outside the door. This part of the conversation was for Loghain's ears only.

As Loghain followed Lhiannon to the far corner of the hall, he felt the anger and turmoil roiling within her. He knew she was angry about the bodyguards, thinking he had deliberately and intentionally gone around her authority as Warden Commander in the matter. Could she not see that it was also the actions of a lord protecting his lady, securing protection against those who still wanted to do her harm? The attack by the zealot Burne was not long in the past and Loghain would not allow himself to become lax in his vigilance to protect his wife. If that meant going around her authority, he would suffer the consequences gladly.

Lhiannon's voice was an angry hiss in his ear. "If you think of acting for my "protection" in such a way again…don't. I cannot continue to have this power struggle with you. I am Commander of the Grey Wardens and you are my Second."

"Oh, so I'm just supposed to _let _you wander around the heart of Chantry influence in Ferelden unprotected?" Loghain's eyes narrowed as a slight sneer crossed his features. "And how is that a disservice to you, _Commander?"_

Lhiannon kept her temper in check as the sneer fell from Loghain's features. "The bodyguards themselves are not the issue. I'm not saying you can't do what you did; I'm saying you need to show a little trust in me to do what I think is best. As my Second you are supposed to be my greatest advisor but instead you are my greatest competition and adversary! This continued power struggle will eventually fracture the Wardens."

"Do you not trust in my years of tactical experience?"

"Do you not trust in my judgment as Warden Commander? _That_ is my primary role in this nation and I act in that name. I _do_ trust your expertise—more than you know—but I need you to _advise_ me, not just take control on your own. You have shown me a complete lack of respect as Warden Commander. If you don't trust me as the commander of the Grey, then we have a problem. All I have ever asked is that you present these suggestions to me _before_ you implement them on your own."

Loghain slashed a hand through the air. "Don't be ridiculous. I did what I thought needed to be done."

Lhiannon sighed in exasperation. "Then you leave me little choice." Turning from where she and Loghain stood, she moved toward the door to where Anders and Oghren waited beyond. She called them in, asking that they come to stand with the Second Warden. She turned to face the three men, the burden of her command nearly crushing her. This was the last thing she wanted to do. They should be rejoicing over the birth of Ferelden's heir, not doing…_this. _She stood tall, her chin high and shoulders back. The Wardens followed suit, all standing at attention and waiting for her to speak.

"Second Warden Loghain, you have circumvented my authority in the past; most recently at the execution of Elis Burne. At that time, I warned you of the consequences of continued insubordination. You of all people know the importance of the chain of command, yet you have chosen to circumvent it when you feel it is necessary or convenient. The chain exists for a reason."

As she spoke, she saw the expressions of confusion and concern dawn on the faces of Anders and Oghren. Loghain's face was impassive, his cool blue eyes holding her gaze steady. Lhiannon nearly felt her resolve crumble at the mesmerizing sight of his eyes, but she stood her ground.

"Second Warden Loghain, I order you confined to quarters immediately…"

"_I beg your pardon?" _Loghain spat through gritted teeth. He looked about to continue but stopped as Lhiannon's eyes narrowed.

"…and in one hour we will reconvene and you will face disciplinary action." With a firm stare, she leveled her gaze on Anders first, then Oghren. "Wardens Anders and Oghren, you will escort Second Warden Loghain to quarters and remain on guard outside his door until we reconvene."

"Lhiannon…" Anders began, his eyes wary as he looked first to Loghain out of the corner of his eye, then back to Lhiannon. He watched as two red splotches bloomed on her face and her anger filled the taint between them all.

"It is _Warden Commander Lhiannon_, and that_ is an order."_ Turning crisply on her heel, Lhiannon left the hall and made her way to the Commander's office, her body shaking more and more violently as she drew closer to the office. Closing the door behind her, she leaned wearily against it and lowered her face to her hands, her body shaking with the force of her anguished sobs.

* * *

_A/N, part two: This chapter did not turn out as I expected it to. I had not planned on such omnious ______circumstances with Teagan and Raelyn, nor did I see the power struggle between Lhi and Loghain coming until the words were written. Funny how muses take you to places you never thought you'd go. I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried about it. This chapter is certainly ________darker than I thought it would be, so if I've offended, I apologize._

_The mage's bridle is actually taken from a device called a scold's bridle or branks, an instrument used on women (and occasionally men) between the 16th and 19th centuries as a punishment device for shrews, gossips, nagging (if wives were accused of such) or women accused of witchcraft. It was also used as a mild form of torture or to humiliate and control its victim. It was most commonly used in male dominated societies. Somehow, I could see this being employed by more fanatical elements within the templar order.  
_

_The baby's first name is prounced (gar-ro-dean), an Irish Celtic girl's name that means "noble warrior." Her middle name is pronounced (ner-iss), which is a Welsh Celtic girl's name meaning "lady," as in "lord and lady." Oh, and it's the name of a character in one of my favorite television shows, "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine." Kira Nerys is a total BAMF._

_Special thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, cloud1004, Enaid Aderyn, JackOfBladesX, naomis8329, Ventisquear, Arsinoe, Psyche Sinclair, Dante Alighieri, Dark Chubb, and Tyanilth. Cloud1004 gets a cookie for being the 300th review (thank you!). I simply can't believe I reached that mark at this point of the story! Rend Asunder has 346 and that has 51 chapters! Thanks to all of you who have reviewed in the past and continue to do so now. I very much appreciate the support._

_Thanks to all the readers! :)  
_


	34. Crimes and Punshments

_Thanks so much to Tyanilth for her beta skills! You really helped me find my way when all my muse wanted to do was waffle. Or eat waffles. Either way, the muse wasn't cooperating and you got her back on track nicely. {Hugs}_

* * *

Loghain paced the small room, stalking about like an angry predator, the force of his footfalls likely heard beyond the door to where Anders and Oghren stood guard. _Stood guard_! Loghain scoffed to himself angrily. He was acting to protect his wife and commander and she had the nerve to accuse him of skirting her authority? What did she expect him to do, leave her unprotected so that any malcontent could walk up to her and bury a dagger in her chest again? That was not an option. They should be taking joy in little Nerys' birth, not engaging in this power play nonsense.

Lhiannon spoke of the chain of command, a concept with which Loghain was intimately familiar. As General of Ferelden's armies for longer than she walked the surface of Thedas, Loghain was well aware of its importance and the consequences bypassing the chain entailed. He himself had had to discipline more than one officer under his command for abusing the chain.

It was for Lhiannon's protection that he spoke to Maverlies and obtained her services—and those of several handpicked soldiers of the arling—as bodyguards. Loghain knew that using the justification that he was acting within his authority as the new arl would likely not sit well with Lhiannon. He knew Lhiannon considered herself Warden Commander of Ferelden more so than Arlessa of Amaranthine. Warden Commander was the role she closely identified with and acted as. Loghain brought a hand up to his head, his thumb massaging his temple as his fingers rested just along his hairline. When it came to his love for his wife and his fierce desire to protect her in all ways, his logic was sometimes ambiguous. This was no exception.

However, he knew he had to put the husband in him aside and look at this from the soldier's standpoint. In the strictest of terms, he had committed a form of insubordination when he executed Elis Burne without discussing it with Lhiannon first. She had agreed that he did the right thing, but she had been angry that he simply grasped that authority and used it without her knowledge or approval. She felt he did the same thing here by arranging for the bodyguards without her knowledge. He put himself in her position. Had Cauthrien committed such an insubordination—and she had in her younger career and been duly punished by Loghain himself for it—Loghain would likely feel the same way Lhiannon felt.

His realization tasted bitter, but only for a moment. He could see her point of view and why she thought he acted beyond his authority. However, she also needed to come to reality as well and see his perspective; he would be negligent as both her Second and her husband if he let her traipse about Denerim unprotected. It was his duty to protect his commander and he would not fail at it.

* * *

After several moments of being shaken by her sobs, Lhiannon felt them begin to gradually fade. Her cheeks were wet with her tears and she could feel the drops coating her eyelashes. She felt like brittle glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Weariness at the trip to Denerim was intensified by the fatigue brought on by the hurried spellcasting to ensure Nerys was born within the palace walls rather than on the side of the North Road. Anxiety and nervousness at the imminent Landsmeet and being in the heart of Chantry influence in Ferelden frayed her nerves. Loghain's insubordination did little to help matters. Standing tall, Lhiannon took the heels of her hands and began to rub at her eyes, willing her tears to stop falling. The hour was quickly passing; she still had no idea what she would do with Loghain regarding his reprimand for insubordination. The thought nearly made her sobs return in force but she quashed them, knowing that they would do nothing but make her task more difficult.

This was the part of being a commander that she hated most.

Soft footfalls could be heard just outside the door to the commander's office, moving back and forth in either nervousness or duty. Opening the door, Lhiannon saw Maverlies just outside, her two soldiers from Amaranthine's army not far away.

"Sergeant, a word?"

With a nod, Maverlies entered the office where Lhiannon closed the door and bolted it behind her. Turning to Maverlies, Lhiannon crossed her arms over her chest and leveled what she hoped was a stern gaze on her soldier. If Maverlies saw signs of Lhiannon's distress, she did not acknowledge it.

"Sergeant, this conversation will remain between us. I am ordering you to not discuss this conversation with anyone unless I give you express permission to do so. Is that in any way unclear?"

Maverlies stood at attention, nodding crisply to Lhiannon. "I understand, Warden Commander."

Taking a few steps, Lhiannon began to concentrate on the floor in front of her as she walked. She was not sure how she was going to speak to Maverlies about what was on her mind but decided that being straightforward would be the best course of action.

"Sergeant, you are well aware that before the Blight, I had no military experience, correct? That my experience has come from gathering the armies of Ferelden to put down the darkspawn and archdemon?"

The Sergeant's eyebrows lowered. "Yes, Warden Commander."

"That being said, I am relying on your military expertise to make the best decision I can in this difficult situation." Lhiannon turned and leveled her gaze at the Sergeant once more, taking a deep breath before continuing. "When a soldier below you committed an act of insubordination, what was the usual and appropriate punishment?"

Lhiannon watched as Maverlies shifted ever so slightly on her feet, a look of mild discomfort crossing her features. The Sergeant quickly made her face neutral once more, burying any misgivings or discomfort under a stoic façade. "It depended on the infraction, Warden Commander. But in most cases, first offenses often resulted in extra duties, reduction in pay or rank, forfeiture of leave time, or confinement. It could also be any combination of them."

"And if the insubordination was not a first offense?"

"Then any of those punishments coupled with going under the whip."

Lhiannon felt her stomach drop, the thought of corporal punishment nearly making her physically sick. She swallowed thickly. "How many…"

Thankfully, Maverlies knew the answer to the remainder of Lhiannon's unspoken question. "Up to ten lashes with a whip, strap, or cat 'o nine tails, administered by the offender's superior officer. Now matter what is used, it's referred to as 'going under the whip'."

"And what of further…" Lhiannon felt her voice hitch briefly. She swallowed and blinked before continuing. "And what of further occurrences?"

"There generally are no further occurrences, Warden Commander," Maverlies said, keeping her voice even. "Not after going under the whip."

Lhiannon pursed her lips as she contemplated a stone in the wall of the office. Maverlies looked at the Warden Commander, not needing any sort of taint or whatever it was the Grey Wardens shared to see that the Warden Commander was fighting a war with herself. Finding the line that divided love and duty was proving hard for the Warden Commander. Maverlies frowned; fraternizing between officers within the army was a slippery slope and something that Maverlies herself never engaged in for this very reason.

"Warden Commander, may I speak openly?"

Lhiannon turned to face the Sergeant, raising a brow ever so slightly. She nodded. "I would welcome it."

Lhiannon watched as Maverlies relaxed slightly, moving her hands behind her back to clasp them together. "I am assuming this reprimand pertains to your Second, otherwise we would not be having this conversation. As a high ranking Warden, Second Loghain would normally not be subject to certain types of punishment. With higher ranking officers, they are generally confined to quarters for a given period of time and possibly reduced in rank and pay." Maverlies paused for a moment, considering. "Normally, I would recommend confinement to quarters if we were at Vigil's Keep or possibly confinement in the brig here. However, you need your Second at your side during your business here in Denerim; your safety is paramount and he is the best person to assure it."

"But?"

With a small shrug, Maverlies continued. "I don't agree with the fraternization between you and your Second. However, that is your business and the business of the Grey Wardens. Your Second needs to be reprimanded for insubordination; that is not in question. The question is what the appropriate punishment should be."

Lhiannon kept her expression careful and neutral as she watched her Sergeant. Her stomach dropped once again at what she thought the Sergeant would likely suggest. "What is your official recommendation as Sergeant in the Amaranthine army?"

Maverlies did not hesitate. "My recommendation is a quick punishment. Five lashes with the whip, then the incident is over for good and the Wardens can move on."

The temperature of the room seemed to plummet as the blood rushed from Lhiannon's head into the yawning pit of her stomach. Dread filled all the empty spaces within her. "You are telling me that I must physically put my husband to the whip?" The very thought was Lhiannon's greatest fear; the thought of putting _any_ of the Wardens under such a punishment turned her stomach.

Holding up a finger, Maverlies stopped Lhiannon's protest cold. "Commander, this is _not_ your husband; this is your _Second_, who disobeyed an order and committed an act of insubordination. The sooner you separate yourself from your current train of thought, the better." Maverlies crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry to speak so frankly to you, Commander. I said it before: I do not agree with officers fraternizing. Nevertheless, you and the Second must separate your personal lives from your duty. It will tear you apart if you do not."

Silence descended in the Commander's office, so thick as to be nearly palpable. Lhiannon stared intently at the wall once more, her emotions still in raging conflict knowing that Maverlies' words were correct.

"Commander," Maverlies began, her voice softening slightly. "Warden Loghain is a career soldier and fighter. He knows the chain of command and the consequences of going around it; I know he has punished his men for similar transgressions. Falter in your duty now and it will undermine your credibility with not only your Wardens, but with your soldiers as well."

"I won't let that happen."

Lhiannon looked up as Maverlies laid a surprisingly gentle hand on her forearm. "Then you know what you must do, Commander."

* * *

The walk from the Commander's quarters to the main hall within the Warden compound seemed to take an eternity, time slowing to a grinding crawl as Lhiannon walked the halls. Her thoughts raced manically as her stomached clenched and flipped. Maverlies and two soldiers followed at a respectful distance, stopping just outside the main doors to the hall as Lhiannon held up a hand to them. "Wait here. Your presence will not be needed."

Upon entering the hall, Lhiannon saw Loghain standing near a banner bearing the Warden's creed, his head turned up as he apparently studied the words embroidered on the cloth. Oghren and Anders stood near the door, nervousness coloring their features as they observed their Commander enter. Lhiannon quashed her personal feelings, trying to detach herself from them as she completed this difficult task.

"Wardens Anders and Oghren, please wait outside."

The Wardens nodded briefly, moving beyond the entryway and quietly closing the door behind them. Lhiannon returned her eyes to Loghain as he moved to face her. He stood at attention, his face impassive. As they stood facing each other, Loghain could sense Lhiannon's feelings barely held in check.

Lhiannon took a deep breath, likewise opening her tainted senses to Loghain. He was keeping his emotions firmly under control, which she was not surprised to discover. "You have not made my position easy, Second Warden."

Still staring straight ahead, Loghain's voice was cool and controlled. He clamped down further on his feelings of anger and trepidation, not wanting to give them away through their shared taint. "I did what I thought was necessary to ensure your safety while in Denerim, Commander. I do not regret doing what I felt I had to do."

"And in doing so, you have circumvented my authority once again. Second Warden, I understand and agree with the bodyguards you procured, however I do not agree with your methods. From now on, you are not to implement _any_ sort of plans directly relating to me without discussing it with me first. This is not a request; _it is an order_."

Loghain's gaze remained fixed straight ahead, his voice still cool. "I do not agree with your reasoning; you are overreacting. However, I understand your order_, Commander_."

The temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees as Lhiannon's eyes narrowed at her Second. "I do not recall giving you permission to speak freely, Second Warden. You will keep your opinions in this matter until I ask for them." Lhiannon took a step closer, standing at his side and glaring up at him. "I don't think you _do_ understand, Second Warden. You cannot continue this insubordination. This will surely divide the Wardens and undermine not only my authority but the credibility of the Grey Wardens as well. Our rivals would love to see us splinter from within, fighting amongst ourselves like mabari looking for table scraps."

She took several steps away, whirling about to face him once more. She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "_You_, of all people, know the importance of the chain of command. _You_, of all people, should hold it almost sacred yet you disregard it when it suits your purposes. You put me in a difficult spot with your actions." Lhiannon crossed her arms over her chest, taking a deep breath before continuing. The pit began to open in her stomach once more. "Tell me, Second Warden; if you were in command of Ferelden's armies, how would you discipline insubordination?"

His reply was quick and efficient, as if he had been prepared for the question. "Extra duty. Loss of pay. Possible confinement or loss of rank."

"And for further offenses?"

Loghain blinked slowly, his breath nearly silent as he inhaled. "All of those as well as a flogging in front of their unit."

"And did you deliver such punishment or one of your officers?"

"I delivered the punishment myself in most cases, as I felt it was my duty to do so." Loghain felt trepidation begin to worm its way through his gut. Was she really considering what he thought she was? Would she go through with such a punishment? _Could _she go through with such a punishment? It was something she had never had to do before as Commander of the Grey Wardens. Generally, she gave her Wardens a dressing down. No one had disobeyed her seriously enough to warrant such a punishment.

Did she truly think this was serious enough?

"I'll have you know that I spoke with Sergeant Maverlies earlier regarding punishments in the Amaranthine army. They are similar to yours; I suspect you have taught them well and they have taken your no doubt sound advice and implemented it through their ranks. Her recommendation was five lashes under the whip." Lhiannon paused, her voice softening slightly. She thought she saw Loghain's face twitch ever so slightly, but she could not be sure.

"Though you deserve a harsh punishment for continuing to be insubordinate, what you did was for my protection and I must take that into consideration. I am disappointed in myself that I had not considered such a thing before leaving for Denerim. The blame is not all yours. I also bear a burden of it as Warden Commander and the thought that I have failed in my duty does not sit well with me. I, too, have a lesson to learn from this."

Lhiannon moved to the door, opening it and asking Anders and Oghren to return. They came into the room and stood a step behind Loghain, waiting for Lhiannon to continue.

"Wardens Anders and Oghren, you will bear witness to my judgment." She shifted her gaze to Loghain, lifting her chin as she fought the lump in her throat. This was the part of command that she hated, especially when the consequences were being handed out to the man she loved. Quashing the thought, she took a deep breath.

"Second Warden Loghain, for your insubordination, I decree that you will be given thirty days of extra duty, beginning immediately. You will be confined to this compound when not on official duty during the duration of our stay in Denerim unless you have my express permission otherwise." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "You are also put on notice that with the next violation, you will be reduced in rank and will no longer be Second of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. You will also go under the whip. This reprimand will be put in the Warden records at Vigil's Keep. Is this in any way unclear?"

"No, Commander," Loghain said, his voice as brisk and cold as a Ferelden winter.

Lhiannon's stomach lurched at the coldness of Loghain's voice. It was a tone she had not heard since the Landsmeet well over a year ago. It shocked her; she had forgotten just how cold his voice could be and it shook her to her very core. "Very well then, we shall speak of this no more. Return to your duties."

Without waiting for the others to respond, Lhiannon moved stiffly through the door and into the hallway. She sprinted through the halls and burst through the nearest door to the outside, the wood and metal banging against the stone exterior of the building. Lhiannon quickly moved behind the door, falling onto her knees and vomiting into the bushes that decorated the wall.

Her stomach lurched painfully, threatening to turn itself inside out as her violent retching continued long after the contents of her stomach lay in a stinking pool within the bushes. Tears ran down her cheeks from the force of her retching and her stomach muscles ached. A clammy sweat covered her skin, making her clothing stick to her body. She remained on her knees for some time, her hands against the rough stone and head hung low. The sun gently warmed her back as it broke through the clouds and caressed her leathers.

"Lookin' a little green there, Commander."

Lhiannon turned with a startled gasp to see Oghren standing just outside the door, an almost wizened look on his bearded face. "You look like you went drink for drink with a dwarf in Tapsters."

"I feel like going drink for drink with a dwarf," Lhiannon said, her voice raspy from her retching. She grimaced at the sour taste in her mouth.

"Wouldn't recommend it," Oghren said, chuckling low and pulling a flask from his hip pouch. He held it out to Lhiannon, who looked between it and Oghren warily.

"Ancestor's tits, it's not lichen ale. Haven't had a chance to restock. This is plain ol' whiskey."

Lhiannon accepted the flask, taking a drink of the liquid. It burned going down as if she swallowed a ball of fire. Gasping and choking, she handed the flask back to a grinning Oghren, who took a deep drink himself.

"Andraste's flaming arse! What the hell is that? It tastes like something Dworkin the Mad would concoct to blow things up." The fire within burned her throat and scorched her aching stomach.

"He's tried to use it; burns too fast. Told him I'd have to tweak the recipe to see if I can make it burn longer for him."

Lhiannon looked at Oghren with mild amusement. "You have a still at Vigil's Keep?"

"Does a whore work on her back?"

Lhiannon sat back against the rough stone wall of the compound, scooting away from where the contents of her stomach lay. She brought her knees up, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. Before she could think of the words to say, Oghren, thankfully, answered her unspoken question. His voice was actually kindly, which nearly made Lhiannon laugh out loud. "Commandin' ain't easy, is it?"

"No, it's not."

"Never did it myself. It ain't for me. Just point me toward somethin' to kill... That's all I need."

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out for this."

"That Chantry boy on the throne thought you were."

"Um, it was the Queen that made me Warden Commander."

Oghren paused, his brow furrowing momentarily in what Lhiannon supposed was deep thought. She nearly giggled out loud at the sight. After a moment he waved his hand through the air in indifference. "Same sodding thing."

Oghren shrugged then held out his hand, offering to help Lhiannon to her feet. "Up ya go, Commander. Ya gotta get back to business." Lhiannon stood, putting an arm out against the stone wall of the compound until she was sure she was going to stay on her feet. Oghren tapped her elbow with his flask once more.

"Need another hit?"

"Thanks," Lhiannon said, taking the flask from Oghren and drawing a small sip, the fire not burning as much the second time around.

"Loghain's a soldier. He knows this ain't personal."

Lhiannon sighed heavily. "I'm not sure he does. I'm not sure_ I_ do. But I do know one thing: if we can't separate our personal lives from our duty, it will tear us apart. I don't want that." Bringing her hands to her face, Lhiannon sighed heavily. "Oghren, we just had a granddaughter today; we should be at the place celebrating that, not doing _this_."

"Then what's stoppin' ya? Go gather him up and get your arses to the palace."

"Oghren, did you not just hear me say he was confined to the compound unless given express permission to leave?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Then give him permission. I won't tell if you won't."

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the punishment?"

"Not if you give permission. Besides, it ain't every day a rugrat is born. Stop bein' the Commander and be the wife. Be the granny. Get Loghain and get to the palace." Oghren took another long draw from his flask, upending the last of the contents into his mouth. "It's a great reason to have a toast."

Lhiannon smirked with wry amusement. "Like you need a reason for a toast."

"Yer learnin', Commander."

"Thanks, Oghren." With a nod, Lhiannon reentered the compound, opening herself to the taint to determine where Loghain would be within the walls. She began to walk through the unfamiliar corridors, picturing what it would be like with a compliment of Wardens living here, their boisterous laughter and camaraderie filling the rooms and halls with life.

Loghain was in the last place she expected him to be: the commander's personal quarters. He stood at the window overlooking the small courtyard at the front of the building. Was he here because it was the most logical place to find her or was he planning on staying? After the events of the last couple of hours, she was not sure of either. She entered the room, closing the door quietly behind her. He remained at the window, his gaze outside. Lhiannon waited for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke.

"Is it Commander or wife?"

Lhiannon was nonplussed. "I'm sorry?"

"It is a simple question. Are you here as my _Commander _or my _wife_? One of you is welcome to stay; the other can get out."

"Which one is allowed to stay?" She took a tentative step forward, closing the distance between them. "Once I passed through this door, I became your wife."

Loghain remained at the window, his back to Lhiannon for several long moments. She could feel the tension between them, building so that it nearly crushed her with its weight. She took another tentative step closer, reaching out and brushing the tips of her fingers along his broad shoulder. He tensed under her touch and she could feel his anger bursting through the taint between them. "Loghain, I…"

With a motion nearly too quick to see, Loghain whirled about and grabbed her by the arm, his fingertips digging into her flesh and pain sizzling up her nerves. He pulled her into a brutal kiss, his teeth punishing her lips. As quickly as the kiss began he pulled away, his stare intense and intimidating. Lhiannon trembled slightly under his gaze, not sure of what he was going to do next.

"Maker damn you, woman. Can't you see that I'm trying to _protect _you?" He shook her arm, his movements jarring yet cautious. "I just found you after nearly a lifetime alone. I won't let some Chantry zealot take you from me. You cannot stop me from going to whatever ends to protect you. I would do the same thing for my own daughter and granddaughter. If that means being demoted or flogged or whatever else my _Commander _deems appropriate, I will suffer it, and gladly. I will _never _apologize for wanting to protect you."

"You make my duty as Commander difficult at times like this."

"I am a difficult man, you know this well. You would seek to have me gain _permission_ to protect _my wife?_"

Lhiannon threw her hands up. "It's _not_ that. You procured such services in the Wardens' stead, _not_ as a husband, and there is where the difference lies. All I'm saying is that you need to bring such plans to my attention _before _implementation."

"Then consider these plans for your protection disclosed," Loghain said, an exasperated snort escaping him. "I will go to the most extreme lengths to see you protected. All other plans requiring your approval shall be brought to you, _as you wish_. Since we are now apparently speaking frankly, you are also not blameless in this situation."

"Pardon me?"

"You heard me; you also bear some of the blame. You said so yourself. By not considering the fact that Denerim could be a _very_ dangerous place, you put yourself into unnecessary danger. You chastise _me_ for going around the chain of command, but _you_ took unnecessary risk onto yourself by coming to Denerim ill prepared, _causing _me to go around that very chain for your protection. We both maneuvered ourselves into a no-win situation and we both should have known better."

"Are you saying now that I am unfit to lead?"

Loghain scoffed indignantly. "Maker's breath, I did not say that; _do not_ put words into my mouth. I am saying that while I have a duty to respect and obey the chain of command, you also have the duty to those who serve under you to consider all the circumstances of a situation _carefully_ and _thoroughly_ before acting. You have a responsibility to not take unnecessary risks with either yourself or those under you. To ignore that responsibility is to invite failure at best and death at worst." Loghain paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "We set ourselves up for failure and that is unacceptable."

"Why did you not ask to speak freely in the hall?" Lhiannon's brows lowered as she looked to Loghain with confusion. "This could have been taken under consideration."

"I did not mention it because I should have known better than to let us set ourselves up for failure. In that respect, I _did_ fail and deserved to be reprimanded for it."

"And _my_ failure?"

Loghain shrugged slightly. "You have to live with the knowledge and strive to do better. I suspect the memory of this event will linger with you for some time, and that in itself is a punishment. I will also be sure to remind you of your responsibilities so that you do not repeat this."

The lump formed in Lhiannon's throat again, growing larger with every beat of her heart. She swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath that hitched slightly at the end. She was uncertain of how much longer she could hold her conflicted emotions in check. Loghain's words rang true. Taking a deep breath, she forced the last of the lump away. "I wasn't sure you were going to be here."

"I am not about to run for the hills every time we do something to anger each other. You should know that by now." Loghain released her arm, taking a step back toward the window and leaning up against the sill. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Discipline is never easy."

Lhiannon moved to stand next to Loghain, leaning up against the stone wall beside him. She snickered lightly. "The understatement of the Dragon Age."

They stood side by side in silence for several moments, their anger slowly beginning to abate. Lhiannon turned her head to look at Loghain. "We shouldn't be here, doing this. We should be at the palace celebrating Nerys' birth."

"That is the first bit of sense I have heard from you in the past couple of hours." Loghain turned to look at Lhiannon, whose face had become carefully neutral once again. He sighed through his nose, returning his gaze to his crossed arms. "It is," he began, pausing to consider his words, "_difficult_ to become a mere officer again after having been a general for so many years. I have been a soldier for so long I sometimes forget what it is to simply be a man."

"You are _not_ just a mere officer," Lhiannon protested, turning to face Loghain directly. "I depend on your experience and expertise more than you know. But, let us not rehash this; I meant it when I said this was over back in the hall. Like our lives before the Joining, it doesn't matter now." She reached over and ran a finger along Loghain's arm. "When we return to Vigil's Keep, we will move our offices from our personal living areas to a lower floor of the Vigil. This situation has shown that we must keep our personal lives separate from our duty as much as possible; a physical separation of that will help."

"I agree," Loghain said, taking Lhiannon's hand and placing a light kiss on the palm. "Now, if my Commander allows it, I would like permission to return to the palace to see my granddaughter."

"Our granddaughter, you mean."

Pulling Lhiannon close, Loghain pressed a kiss onto her forehead. "Our granddaughter indeed."

* * *

Bells tolled throughout the capital and criers in all districts announced the birth of the heir to the line of Calenhad. Taverns were rapidly filling with Fereldens young and old looking for a reason to celebrate the good fortune of the King and Queen and many toasts were raised to not only the young princess, but to the virility of her parents. The worry of an heirless kingdom was in the past.

When a sleeping Nerys was placed into her grandfather's arms for the first time a short while later, the residual anger between the Mac Tirs faded away. Lhiannon watched as a look of simple joy crossed Loghain's face, his large, calloused finger gently stroking the delicate skin of the baby's cheek. They sat with the King and Queen in the anteroom of their private chambers within the palace, quietly celebrating the newest member of their family.

"She's beautiful," Loghain said, wonder in his voice. Loghain found Nerys' little hand, smiling as the delicate fingers tightened around his calloused digit. "I know Maric would have been very happy to see you, little one." Gazing at Nerys, Loghain also thought he saw hints of Celia in the baby's features; it was something he would mention to Anora later. He did not think Lhiannon would be upset by the mention of Celia, but discretion in such matters was always best.

Lhiannon sat next to Loghain on the small settee, her hand lightly stroking the top of Nerys' head. Loghain watched her expression turn melancholy for a moment before she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the crown of Nerys' head. He could feel a sadness lurking beneath her joy. "Tell me," Loghain quietly commanded, "what has you vexed?"

Lhiannon looked to where the King sat on a nearby ottoman, the feet of the Queen propped on his lap. They spoke quietly between themselves as Alistair stroked her legs, stealing occasional glances at Nerys and her grandparents. Lhiannon looked down to Neyrs again, her expression wistful. "I know I should not fret over will never be, but there are times when I can't help myself."

"Anything is possible, Lhiannon. Hopefully the taint has not progressed so far within us as to destroy all hope."

Leaning forward again, Lhiannon pressed her lips to the soft skin of Nerys' head. The baby shifted slightly in her grandfather's arms before settling once more. Lhiannon harbored her doubts for such things, but now was not the time to voice them. "Perhaps."

* * *

_A/N: It was a hard decision, but I ended up splitting this chapter. You'll have to wait to see what's happening with Sigrun, Teagan, and Raelyn. I'm a bad girl. But at least this chapter wasn't a cliffhanger.  
_

_I ended up scrapping about 50% of this chapter and completely rewriting it; I did save what I cut out. I don't think it will ever see the light of day, but I just couldn't let it go to the recycle bin. ;) Several of you mentioned in reviews that Lhiannon was overreacting a bit. I reread the chapter and decided that you all were onto something, so the chapter was edited. Thanks to all of you for pointing it out to me. Sometimes you get so close to the story that you can't see the forest for the trees.  
_

_Big cheers go out to reviewers Shakespira (who now has me craving Boston Cream Pie), cloud1004, Aura of Darkness Night, Ventisquear (sorry for distracting you at work after that lulz challenge!), Dante Alighieri, JackOfBladesX, Psyche Sinclair, Enaid Aderyn, Arsinoe, Darkchubb, naomis8329, and Tyanilth (thanks again for being an awesome beta and for the idea of expanding on Loghain's point of view! I hope Muirnara doesn't mind). __Speaking of Muirnara, if you haven't yet read Tyanilth's "The Hourglass", you're missing a fantastic story. So, get on over there and read it!_

_Thanks to you readers for taking the time to read my little tale. Or not so little tale. :)_

_EDIT: Thanks to cloud for pointing out a glaring error! Oops...see, my tired brain just didn't see it._


	35. What Awaits in Denerim

Lhiannon yawned widely as she traversed the halls of the Warden compound, her fitful sleep leaving her near exhaustion. Trying to sleep in a bed that was not hers was bad enough; the anxiety crawling in her guts regarding this trip to Denerim made actual sleep nearly impossible. _At least I won't dream of the darkspawn_. Though the archdemon was dust in the wind for over a year now, the nightmares had only abated slightly. It was something she knew she would never get accustomed to.

The cooking staff they had brought from Amaranthine had been busy the day before, stocking the larders of the compound for the Grey Wardens and their entourage. Taking a heaping plate of food and a cup of tea, Lhiannon seated herself at one of the tables in the largely empty dining hall. Only a smattering of soldiers from Amaranthine was present, finishing their morning meals before either beginning their duty shifts or preparing for bed after the night watch. Half of the troops that accompanied them from Amaranthine were stationed at the compound while the other half were with Sergeant Maverlies at the estate the late Arl Howe kept within the walls of Denerim. Lhiannon shivered at the thought of the atrocities that took place there. She would have to speak to Loghain, Varel, and Mistress Woolsey about either selling the manor or possibly razing it. Though the arling of Amaranthine and Amaranthine City were both beginning to thrive once again, keeping a Denerim manor was both redundant and an expense Lhiannon thought unnecessary given that the Wardens who administered the arling could easily use the Warden compound. Not only that, the manor was little more than a sore spot and constant reminder of the horrors Howe visited upon his rivals and enemies.

Lhiannon sighed, turning her mind to other matters as she picked at the food on her plate. With the birth of Nerys, the ceremonies around the Landsmeet could officially begin. This day would find her and Loghain attending the dedication and baptism of Nerys at the small baptistery within the palace's private chapel. Lhiannon scoffed to herself as she took a sip of her honeyed tea. Traditionally, the Grand Cleric of Ferelden presided over such ceremonies for royal heirs. She would likely want to spit nails the moment Lhiannon and Loghain entered the baptistery to witness Nerys' baptism. Under the anxiety, Lhiannon found herself at the edge of giggling at the thought of the look on Grand Cleric Talitha's face. It almost made seeing the woman again worth it.

"Something amusing, dear wife?"

Lhiannon looked up to see Loghain settling on the bench beside her, his own plate full of food and a large cup of tea in his hand. Once a hand was free, he reached down to give her leg an affectionate squeeze before digging into the pile of hash on his plate.

"I'm picturing the look on the Grand Cleric's face when she sees me in the baptistery today."

"Shall I have the carpenters go in beforehand to see to the building's structure? To make sure the rafters don't crack and the roof falls in with your blasphemous presence?"

Lhiannon turned to look at Loghain, her brow raised and a smirk on her face as she observed the corner of his mouth turned upward. "Do you think they have time to inspect it before we have to be there?"

Loghain snorted in amusement, returning his attention to the food before him.

* * *

Nerys' baptism and dedication went far more smoothly than Lhiannon thought it would. She had half expected the Grand Cleric to, at the very least, throw her out of the baptistery, uttering curses and damnations as she did so. What Lhiannon received instead was a nasty look and an icy reception. The Grand Cleric ignored Lhiannon completely and only gave Loghain a token nod after seeing the matching silverite bands they wore on the third fingers of their left hands. Lhiannon watched as the Grand Cleric literally bit her bottom lip to keep from saying whatever vitriol was on her mind. Of course, a stern look of pure ice from the Queen did wonders to make sure the Grand Cleric kept her opinions to herself while she performed the ceremony.

The Theirins and Mac Tirs returned to the palace after the ceremony, where they moved into the private apartments of the King and Queen to take a late afternoon meal and discuss the upcoming Landsmeet and events surrounding it. Nerys, having been fed by the Queen, slept peacefully in a small bassinette next to the settee the monarchs had settled themselves on, her tummy full and surround by the love of her family.

Alistair handed Anora a steaming cup of honey tea, settling onto the settee next to her with a tankard of mead. "Did you see the look the Grand Cleric gave you? She looked at you like you had horns coming out of your head."

With a wave of her hand, Lhiannon snorted. "Seems to be the normal reaction the Chantry has for me of late." Loghain was seated next to her, both of them on a settee across a low table from the King and Queen. His arm rested along the back of the settee, his finger brushing the skin along Lhiannon's neck.

Loghain brought his gaze away from the bassinette to regard Alistair and Anora. "Have you received an accounting of who has arrived for the Landsmeet yet?"

"Many of the banns from the Bannorn have already arrived," Anora said, ticking off points on her delicate fingers. "Fergus and Cauthrien are obviously here; Fergus is in the manor of Highever and Cauthrien within the Gwaren compound. Banns Ceorlic and Alfstanna arrived earlier today. Arl Wulff arrived yesterday."

A prickle of nervousness ran up Lhiannon's spine. "Have you heard anything from Teagan?"

A small cooing noise came from the bassinette, drawing Anora's attention. She moved to arrange the light blanket covering Nerys. "No," she said quietly as she settled the baby once more, "we have heard nothing from Teagan."

Lhiannon turned to Loghain, whose brows had bunched together in thought. "I would have thought him here by now," Loghain mused, "but perhaps he was delayed on the road."

"Or perhaps he was traveling in with Bann Sighard," Lhiannon suggested. "When he left Vigil's Keep, he mentioned that Dragon's Peak would be the last stop on his way to Denerim."

"It's a possibility, though I would think he would have sent some sort of message had he been delayed." Loghain brought a hand up to his face, rubbing his chin in thought. He turned his attention to Alistair. "What of Eamon? Have you received word of his arrival yet?"

Alistair shook his head. "No. I have not received any word that he has arrived. The last I heard, his estate in the Market District has not had any activity as of yet."

The thought of seeing Eamon again made Lhiannon's fists clench in irritation, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms. The only person in all of Thedas she wanted to see less than Eamon was his harpy of a wife; hopefully, she was rotting in a ditch somewhere. Lhiannon feared that was wishful thinking. She took a sip of mead from the mug that Loghain handed to her, nodding her thanks as she accepted it. "Do you think he'll be late on purpose? To postpone the start of the Landsmeet?"

"It would behoove him to arrive on time," Anora said, scoffing derisively as she spoke. "He knows of Teagan's petition and knows he has a number of questions to answer regarding his recent actions. I won't hesitate to have the Landsmeet start without him. Should he not arrive, the Crown will, by default, rule in Teagan's favor."

"We should also continue the discussion we began on the journey here regarding the elves and mages," Loghain said, changing the subject. "I would hear the rest of your reasoning for giving the elves land in the Brecilian Forest and autonomy for mages."

Lhiannon nodded in agreement. "You know the nobles will fight you on your plans for the elves. They won't want an elf with equal representation in the Landsmeet. Not right away, at least."

"Well," Alistair began, taking a draw of mead from his tankard, "it's the old dwarven merchant's trick: ask for everything, but settle for what you wanted in the first place. Haggle, if you will."

Lhiannon felt her brows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean to ask for the Landsmeet's support in offering land and representation to the Dalish; I'll settle for granting them land and a liasion between the tribes and Denerim. I know official representation is a lot to ask, but I want the nobles to engage in haggling and discuss the possibility. Saying nothing guarantees nothing."

Loghain's skepticism for the King's suggestion was apparent in his features. "You are not bargaining for some sword from a vendor in the marketplace." He slashed his free hand through the air. "This is a subject that will likely disenfranchise you with a number of nobles at a time when you need it least. With the threat of the Blight all but eradicated, the political jockeying will begin anew."

Alistair held a finger up for emphasis as he retorted. "Loghain, there may _be_ no better time for this than now. The Blight has been defeated; there is still a celebratory feel in the air from that. Nerys ends the concerns about there being no heir to the line of Calenhad. If we wait much longer to present this, we won't be able to take advantage of the residual goodwill from defeating the archdemon."

With a derisive snort, Loghain turned his attention to Anora. "And what of your opinion on this?"

"Those of the Bannorn who have had to, for lack of a better word, _chase _the Dalish from their lands are less likely to oppose the proposition," Anora said. "Though I am no fool; there will be opposition, if only for opposition's sake."

_So Anora still has reservations,_ Lhiannon thought, _nice sugarcoating it, Alistair_.

Alistair leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and looking between the three other nobles in the room. "The Dalish have lived in Ferelden for generations, pariahs in the eyes of humans. The Alienage elves have it no better. Let us formalize relations with them now while some goodwill remains and yoke their strengths."

Lhiannon's brows furrowed once more. "Yoke their strengths?"

"The Crown hopes to make them our allies," Anora explained. "Ferelden may be seen as weak to other nations, especially after the ravages of the Blight. We need to show strength to those who may take an unusual interest in us."

"But you are unsure?"

A troubled expression crossed the Queen's face. "It won't be as easy as Alistair hopes, I fear."

"Likely not," Loghain agreed, "and not quite what the King implied on our journey here." Loghain returned his attention to the King, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. "On another subject, what of your plans for the mages? Surely you will alienate the Chantry with the mere mention of 'mages' and 'autonomy' in the same sentence."

"I've thought about this a lot, especially after observing what is happening to Lhi." Alistair paused, taking a drink of mead before continuing. "The Chantry, in its fervor to 'protect' mages from themselves and others, has moved from overseer to subjugator. I never wanted to believe it, but looking back now—even to my templar training days—I can see that the Chantry rules through fear and power. They hold power over the templars by controlling the lyrium they take and they hold power over the mages through things like the Rites of Annulment and Tranquility. Mages are kept from the outside world and are ill prepared to become citizens of the greater society because of it."

Lhiannon found herself nodding as Alistair spoke. "Mages are also _forced_ to go through the Harrowing; those that won't or can't are made tranquil. The Chantry and Circle say the Harrowing is to test us—and there should be some test for us, don't misunderstand me—but they force the mages on the outside to summon demons for the test, promising them the body of the apprentice when it appears. Some mages _do_ fail, becoming abominations that have to be destroyed; it is a terrible fate. However, if a mage 'takes too long' in the templars' eyes, they are killed on the spot regardless of their success in resisting the demon or not." Lhiannon paused briefly. "I can tell you from experience that even the weakest demons in the Fade are crafty and some _love_ to hear themselves talk." Lhiannon paused, her voice turning darker as memories of her past came to the forefront of her mind; memories of a love torn away by a cruel rite a decade ago. "The Rite of Tranquility is a crime against mages and _nothing_ can convince me otherwise."

A shudder went through the Queen as she listened to Lhiannon's tale. "I can understand wanting to make sure a mage is sufficiently trained in order to resist demons, but for the Chantry to purposefully have a demon summoned by the mages? It almost seems as though it is a convenient way to 'thin the herd', so to speak."

"I've often wondered that myself," Lhiannon agreed. "It is fear and lack of training that leads some mages to blood magic or demons. However, I know of no other way to test a mage's training than to _have_ a Harrowing of some sort."

"And that is part of my proposition," Alistair said, once more leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he spoke. "Mages need more training in order to resist illegal magic and demons. Part of my proposal is to have academies spread throughout Ferelden so that younger, inexperienced mages can have more one-on-one attention from senior mages and enchanters not attached to any outside parties. They will be semiautonomous, with a governing body containing the lead enchanter of the academy, a templar, a priest, the mayor of the town in which the academy resides, and a regular resident. The ruling noble can also have a role if need be. That way, all affected groups of people are represented in the academy and can make their decisions based on majority rule. It will force the different groups of people to come to a consensus on issues concerning the academies. The children need not be ripped away from their families and sent to Kinloch hold; their families can also provide a stabilizing influence and help the young mages become contributing members of society from an early age.

"Besides, it was Knight-Commander Serain who said in a letter to his successor that it is the Maker's will that men be given the power to take responsibility for their own actions. It's our own strength that decides whether we sin and fail, or achieve grace and glory. And it was Justinia I herself that said mages that honor the Maker and keep his laws are our brothers and sisters."

Loghain snorted derisively. "That is rather open to interpretation. Each successive Divine or Knight-Commander interprets and implements the laws of the Maker as they see fit." He jabbed a finger in Lhiannon's direction. "You see what their interpretation has done for Lhiannon; they all but call her an abomination and maleficar for being Warden Commander and Arlessa."

"The Chantry will not be easily convinced to relinquish their control over the mages," Anora said, reaching into the bassinette to gently rub Nerys' back. The baby uttered a soft sigh under her mother's touch. "Are we prepared to incur their wrath when they vehemently oppose this?"

Lhiannon gave a weary sigh as she considered both Anora and Alistair's words. The Chantry would certainly not be happy to hear this proposition at the Landsmeet. As much as she wanted to see the mages given some sort of freedom and autonomy from the Chantry, she knew it was a nearly insurmountable battle. The Chantry had had centuries to cultivate fear of mages and their abilities; that fear would not be wiped away in a single Landsmeet. "I agree with everything you're saying, Alistair, and there is no one who would like to see the yoke of subjugation thrown off the mages more than me, but you must tread _very_ carefully here. The Chantry is like a sleeping giant."

Loghain scowled deeply as Lhiannon finished her thought. "They Chantry will certainly fight this, regardless of the words of their own Knight-Commanders or Divines."

Before Alistair could continue, a knock sounded on the door, the palace chamberlain appearing in the doorway once Alistair softly called out for the visitor to enter. He bowed in greeting to those present before turning his attention to the King and Queen. "Your Majesties, word has come that Bann Sighard of the Dragon's Peak bannorn has just arrived in Denerim."

Alistair nodded. "Did he come to the palace himself or send one of his people?"

"His secretary sent word. They are staying at the _Leaping Stag_."

"Did the secretary send word of anyone else that may be accompanying them?"

"No, Your Majesty," the chamberlain said, shaking his head slowly. "I believe it is just the Bann and his retinue that have arrived."

A brief silence descended upon the room as the chamberlain waited patiently for orders or dismissal. After a moment, Loghain addressed the man. "Send for the Bann; have him come to the palace immediately."

The chamberlain looked to the monarchs for confirmation of the orders. Anora nodded and waived a hand at the chamberlain. "Please do as my father asks." With a silent nod of acknowledgement, the chamberlain retreated from the room. As soon as the door closed, Nerys began to fuss in her crib. Anora moved to pick her up, but Alistair made motion for her to sit. He went to the bassinette and picked up Nerys, holding her in a slightly awkward manner that sent Anora into a fit of giggles. Lhiannon quickly joined in as Loghain snorted from beside her. Alistair began to pace the floor of the anteroom, soothing his daughter by speaking to her in a low voice as he gently held her.

Lhiannon could not help but smile at the sight of her friend caring for his daughter. _His daughter—_it was still so hard to believe the Alistair was a father now. Lhiannon sighed wistfully. He and Anora were blessed indeed. After a moment, Lhiannon's thoughts turned to the chamberlain and his news of Sighard's arrival. She felt her brow lower as she thought.

"You are hoping Teagan and his retinue have arrived with the Bann?"

Lhiannon turned to Loghain beside her, who had spoken softly into her ear as he too watched Alistair soothe Nerys. "Yes," she said, her voice low as to not disturb the baby. "I would have thought Teagan would have arrived by now. But, perhaps he _was_ delayed after all."

"Perhaps," Loghain agreed, "but it is best to know for sure."

The Theirins and Mac Tirs waited quietly for the chamberlain to return, each taking turns holding the baby as she slept. Alistair had taken the baby once more when a knock sounded on the door and the chamberlain ushered the Bann of Dragon's Peak into the anteroom. Sighard looked flushed, still in his riding clothes as if he came from the inn in a great hurry. His long cloak swirled about his legs as he stepped into the room and bowed low.

"Your Majesties. Your Graces. How can I be of service?" Sighard saw Nerys snuggled in her father's arms. He took a step forward, a smile on his face. "Is this your new child?"

Alistair shifted Nerys slightly so that Sighard could better see her. A broad smile crossed Alistair's face as he showed off his daughter, introducing her as the Princess Nerys of Ferelden. Sighard smiled as he looked at Nerys' sleeping face. "A gift from the Maker, Your Majesty."

"Bann Sighard," Anora said, her voice carrying the regal tone she was known for, "it is our understanding that Teagan Guerein might be arriving with you."

A troubled expression crossed the bann's face. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but Ser Teagan is not with me. I waited for him as long as I could at Dragon's Peak before I had to leave for Denerim and my business here."

Lhiannon shot a quick glance toward Loghain, her own trepidation mirrored by the feel of the same from him in their shared taint. She turned to Sighard. "You are saying that Teagan never arrived at Dragon's Peak?"

"Correct, Warden Commander," Sighard said, shaking his head. "I am actually very surprised. Teagan Guerein is generally a very prompt man and I am very much surprised that he had neither arrived at Dragon's Peak when he said he would nor sent word of his delay." Sighard shrugged slightly, his demeanor nonplussed. "My thought was that we would meet in Denerim if we did not meet at Dragon's Peak."

Loghain scowled to himself, not very optimistic at the turn this conversation was taking. What could cause Teagan to be delayed? Why would he not send word? It was not like Teagan at all and that made Loghain wary. He leaned over to Lhiannon, lowering his lips close to her ear so as not to be overhead. "Perhaps we should send Sergeant Joanna on a reconnaissance mission; have her check Eamon's estate and Teagan's former apartments within the capital for activity."

"Do you think Teagan and Eamon have patched things up? That seems unlikely."

With a snort into Lhiannon's ear, Loghain continued. "No, I don't think they have patched things up at all, not if Eamon's actions against Teagan are any indication. I think it wise if we knew how close Eamon is to Denerim; if he were close, he would send word to his estate so it could be made ready for him."

Lhiannon's brows furrowed again. "And Teagan's apartments?"

"Just to see if there is activity there as well," Loghain murmured. "I highly doubt Teagan would arrive in Denerim and not send word that he is here. In any case, Sigrun and Raelyn would have come to the Warden compound and checked in. That none of them are here and Teagan has missed an appointment is concerning."

"Agreed," Lhiannon murmured, turning to look at Loghain directly. "I'll quietly step outside and ask Sergeant Joanna to take a walk."

* * *

"Sodding darkspawn. Don't they have anything better to do? Like just die already?"

Sigrun sheathed her twin daggers, her chest heaving in exertion and arms feeling twice as heavy as they did just moments before. A number of darkspawn corpses littered the ground around her. It was the second small band of them she encountered on the road as she frantically raced toward Denerim. Both she and her mare, whom she affectionately nicknamed Nuglet, were hungry, exhausted and frightened. The mare had been frightened by the darkspawn that sprang upon them and nearly bolted in a blind panic from the creatures. Sigrun was frightened that her exhaustion from countless hours of fleeing prevented her from sensing the creatures until they were nearly on top of them. She was also concerned that the delay in fighting the creatures would close the gap between the templars—who she knew were hunting for her—and herself. She looked at the half dozen darkspawn bodies littering the road. Leaving them in the open would likely invite suspicion from anyone passing by. She thought about burning the creatures, but the smoke would act as a beacon unless it was full dark. She could wait until nightfall, but the fear crawling in her gut warned her against that idea. Every minute spent here was another minute given to her pursuers.

Besides her exhaustion, she was injured. A genlock from the first band of darkspawn she encountered managed to land his dagger into her shoulder near her collarbone. The wound had pumped blood and made her fingers tingle madly. She was able to heal the worst of it with the last poultice she carried but the most recent fight had reopened the wound, causing it to weep blood and fluids again. Worse, Sigrun could see the wound beginning to turn an angry red, the dull throbbing from earlier increasing in intensity. The skin around the wound felt hot, a miniature fire blazing just under the surface. Sigrun shivered; infection could be just as deadly as any darkspawn. Mentally calculating, she knew she was closing in on Denerim but a real fear began to settle into her gut. The speed at which the wound was weeping and festering disconcerted Sigrun.

"Oh, Nuglet. What if we don't make it? Who's going to tell Lhi about Teagan and Raelyn? And Eamon? His templar buddies will _kill_ them if we can't get to Denerim."

Nuglet snorted, seemingly as exhausted and irritable as Sigrun herself was.

Sigrun rummaged through her pack again, hoping against hope that maybe another poultice was buried at the bottom, hidden beneath her extra clothing. She had encountered a dwarven merchant the day before, bartering an extra dagger for a cloak that was too long for her and two small poultices. She hoped the cloak would help keep her warm and possibly help her pass as a human if anyone saw her from a distance. She knew the cloak would not fool anyone who passed close by and it would do nothing to obscure her facial tattoos.

"Ancestor's sagging tits!" Reaching the bottom of her pack, Sigrun growled in exasperation when she found no extra poultices or concoctions that could help her. She began to quickly stuff the clothing in her pack. "Guess I'll just have to hope the ancestors are kind to me."

Sigrun went to Nuglet, pulling the mare's reins from the tree branches she had tangled them in and pulled herself into the saddle. The effort caused her to hiss in pain as her shoulder protested the movement. Her head and stomach began to spin madly from her weakness and pain. Clutching the pommel of the saddle, Sigrun leaned over and retched; thankfully, she had had no food that day so all that came up was the small amount of water she had drank a few minutes before. Black spots swam in her vision as she fought to get her breathing and protesting stomach under control. Nuglet snorted irritably once more, prancing nervously in place. After a moment, Sigrun's stomach and head stopped their protestations. A cold sweat covered her skin, causing her to shiver. Pulling her cloak more tightly around her, Sigrun urged Nuglet forward.

"Come on, girl. Denerim won't come to us."

Time seemed to stretch out, the sun seemingly stationary in the sky as minutes felt like hours. Sigrun pulled her cloak more tightly around her, gingerly moving so as not to overly jostle her injured shoulder. The shivering that began just after the battle with the darkspawn intensified as the sun slowly moved from its zenith closer to the horizon. Sigrun could feel the sun's warmth on her skin, however it did nothing to warm her inside. She was sweating profusely, her clothing sticking to her skin and chafing. A fetid smell began to emanate from her wounded shoulder; she knew then that the dagger that had inflicted the wound was likely poisoned or so filthy that it might as well have been. The poultice had only delayed the poison's effect rather than healing it. Her eyes burned and her head buzzed as a fever ravaged her body.

She slumped forward in the saddle moments later.

* * *

"Knight Commander Deiniol, have you any news?"

"No, Your Grace. We have heard nothing from the templars charged with finding the dwarf."

Teagan strained to listen to the conversation from where he and Raelyn lay on the ground near the center of the camp. The templars had lit a small fire nearby, but it was far enough away where little warmth reached them. Raelyn's fingers had found Teagan's as they lay back to back on the cool ground. After some time, she had begun to shiver as the cold penetrated their clothing and the skin of her fingers grew cold. She began running a finger along Teagan's palm and he found himself nearly overcome with emotion in his pain and exhaustion. _She _was comforting _him_.

After a night of no sleep on the day of their capture, he and Raelyn had been hooded and perched upon horses, the next two days consisting of pain and suffocating darkness. Every bump in the road reverberated through Teagan's body, driving the small spikes of the bridle into his tongue. As of yet, the templars had not deigned to give them food or water for the day; they were clearly in a hurry and wanted no delays. He had hoped they would tend to them soon; Teagan knew he was weakening from the stress of their captivity, but with the constant mana drainings, Raelyn was no doubt in far worse shape. He could hear Raelyn's whimpering as the templars constantly drained her mana during their travels. He worried greatly for her safety but with the bridle firmly secured in place, he was unable to voice his concerns, not that their captors would actually listen.

"You must realize, Your Grace, that they cannot be taken to the Landsmeet."

"You're right, Knight Commander, but I must decide what to do with them. I will be the first suspect in their disappearance."

Teagan moved his head slightly to try and listen closer to what Eamon and the Knight Commander were discussing. The slight movement caused his jaw to shift, sending new spikes of pain through his tongue and into his face and neck. He groaned as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth once more and he fought to keep from retching. With the plate in his mouth, he could easily choke. Raelyn continued to stroke Teagan's palm with the tip of her finger, offering him comfort.

"There are still many darkspawn in the south of Ferelden, Your Grace. You saw the evidence of them not long before in the bodies we saw along the road. It would be easy to claim that they fell victim to the darkspawn as they traveled, or that he met an unfortunate end in the hunt for the apostate. They resisted us and paid the ultimate price."

"Are you suggesting I dispose of my own brother?"

"You are a soldier in the Maker's army, Your Grace. If it is a sacrifice the Maker demands, we must comply. It would be better to send him to the Maker as a sacrifice before he can condemn himself to the Void with his mage."

Teagan's stomach dropped as he continued to listen to the conversation between Eamon and Deiniol. He was stunned; Eamon was actually _listening_ to the templar's words regarding their fate. The longer they remained with Eamon, the more Teagan realized that his brother was gone and a stranger had taken his place. His mind whirled madly…

A sharp pinch on the palm of his hand caused Teagan to jerk slightly, the pain in his mouth exploding anew. He huffed his breath out his nose, turning his head in an attempt to see Raelyn and determine what she was doing. Teagan turned his body slightly, grunting low in his throat with the effort of trying to see her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Raelyn doing the same thing, turning so that she could see him. She had turned her head back as far as she could, huffing through her nose in effort. She tried to speak through the bridle, but her voice was cut off by the cruel plate in her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut in pain. A large tear worked its way out from the corner of her eye, running down her pale face. After a moment she opened her eyes and Teagan thought he saw a grim determination in them. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she tapped the palm of Teagan's finger three times, slowly and deliberately. Teagan lowered his brows as she began to stroke the palm of his hand once more, her eyes locking onto his. She raised her brows at him as if to ask a question. Teagan felt his forehead furrow as she continued to trace his palm with her finger, her movements slow and deliberate. Suddenly, his eyes widened in recognition and he nodded at his friend, who relaxed and sighed through her nose in relief.

She was tracing letters onto his palm. It was not comfort she had been offering, but communication.

Teagan searched for her other hand with his, finding her palm and setting the tip of his finger on it. He tapped it three times as she had tapped his. She began to carefully trace letters on his palm, each word painstakingly slow, but at least they could communicate.

_Keep Warden secret, _she traced onto his hand, _they not know I am._

Teagan grunted an affirmative. Of course Eamon and the templars did not know Raelyn was a Grey Warden; her Joining had taken place at Vigil's Keep after they had been driven out of Rainesfere. There was no telling what Eamon and his men would do if they discovered she was a Warden.

Teagan traced into Raelyn's palm. _Agree. You OK?_

_I hurt. You?_

_I do too._

"Your Grace, we are not far from Denerim; it makes no sense to turn about and return to the west at this point. We can take them to the templar compound at the cathedral. It is the most secure place in Ferelden for apostates and collaborators. We have business to conduct there and I assure you, they will be secure there."

"And what if they are recognized? My brother is not unknown in the city."

"We shall take them in under the cover of night, hooded. If we remain on the lesser traveled streets, we will arrive safely. The people do not question the templars when they have apostate or maleficar captives."

"Then that is what we shall do. Afterward, we will take my brother to Redcliffe, where I will keep him incarcerated."

"And the mage will accompany us west for her releasing and salvation."

Teagan heard Raelyn gasp from behind him, her finger suddenly shaking along the palm of his hand.

_Scared_, she traced, her finger moving haltingly along the skin of Teagan's palm.

_Me too._

Teagan felt Raelyn twist her fingers within his own as she moved herself closer to him. She tilted her head back to awkwardly rest it along Teagan's shoulder as his thumb stroked the skin of her hand.

_Maker, if you're out there,_ Teagan implored silently, _don't abandon us. Please._

* * *

_The name "Deiniol" is Celtic, meaning "God is my judge." I thought it worked. :) Alistair's words about Serain and Justinia I ar__e taken from some codex pages found in DA2. One is titled "Maleficarium" and the other is "Heirarchy of the Circle."_

_I know I've mentioned it before, but your reviews often trigger new ideas or help me expand on ones already in the works. A review that Arsinoe left a few chapters ago really helped me to further shape a __chunk of this chapter...thanks, Arsinoe! Your reviews are always top notch. Last chapter owes a big thank you to Shakespira and Tyanilth as well for their ideas and input. Lastly, cloud1004 gets a big thank you and a whole bunch of cookies for spotting a glaring error. Too much work, too little sleep. ;)_

_Work has been absolutely brutal the last week or so. The company I work for is going through an __SAP conversion and I get to support about 20 end users once the switch is flipped. I'm even on call this weekend...which is a holiday weekend for us Americans. What's worse? I'm salaried...which means no overtime pay for me. Yeah, that's the dark underbelly of that promotion I received. I'm hoping this won't delay new chapters to the story but there's a chance that I could be delayed for the next week or two. I'll try not to though! The brutal work has also made me a little silly, as you Cheeky Monkeys have no doubt seen. :)_

_Speaking of thanks, big ones go out to reviewers Shakespira, Jessie Long, Kendoka Girl (for several reviews!), Arsinoe, cloud1004, JackOfBladesX, Dark Chubb, Ventisquear, Tyanilth, Aura of Darkness Night, Enaid Aderyn, and naomis8329. Thanks to all you quiet readers as well. You all make writing fun. :)  
_


	36. The Song

_Maker, just fucking take me now and get it over with._

The thought ran through Raelyn's mind with increasing frequency as the hours passed, the last several days a hell of pain, darkness, and constant mana drainings by obsessed templars. Each draining left her weaker not only in body, but in spirit. After one of the last drainings—and Raelyn had lost count of how many drainings ago that was—the templars saw her weakened condition and lashed her to the saddle of the horse they had perched her on. Obviously, they did not want her to fall out of the saddle and die before they were ready to do it themselves. Even now, the irony did not escape Raelyn. She feared what they would do to her; she had a very good idea of just what awaited her when the templars were finally allowed to put their plans into motion.

Hot tears began to burn at the back of her throat again and she was surprised that she still _had_ tears left to shed. She desperately fought the sensation, trying to keep her breathing steady and ignoring the heat building around her hooded head. After a moment fighting what she realized was a losing battle, her stomach lurched and she retched. Pain and blood filled her mouth as the spikes of the bridle dug into her flesh yet again. The tears fell from her eyes as she swallowed her own blood once more, letting her head loll forward once the retching sensation passed and revulsion took its place.

_Please, Maker, please, just let this end. I can't…_

Images began to pass through Raelyn's mind as she silently wept. She thought of Teagan, who had been her friend long before he was her lord and liege. They had met in Redcliffe after the Orlesians had been driven from Ferelden, becoming fast friends for a short time before her magical abilities manifested and she was whisked away to Kinloch Hold. She had never forgotten her young friend Teagan and when she returned to Redcliffe after her Harrowing to discover what had become of her family, fate intervened. As she was researching her family's history in the small archive of the Redcliffe chantry a young nobleman entered, his boisterous laugh carrying through the building as he spoke with a young templar. At first, Raelyn had been annoyed by the racket breaking her concentration and stepped out from behind the case of records to quietly and politely ask the young men to _please_ shut the fuck up. When she saw the face looking back at her, she nearly dropped the book she had been holding. Teagan's eyes met hers and went wide before a broad grin crossed his face.

"I see in you the young girl I once knew."

Raelyn remembered the smile that crossed her face. "You've gotten _old_, Teagan."

"And you haven't aged a day, Raelyn."

"That's a little creepy, Teagan, since I was nine the last time we saw each other."

Raelyn accompanied Teagan to his new home of Rainesfere several days later, where he had been installed as bann by his older brother Eamon a number of years before. Teagan made her part of his staff, where she served him happily and faithfully until joining the Grey Wardens.

As her throat constricted once more, Raelyn squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing her tears to stop before they could begin anew. She inhaled deeply through her nose, willing her body to relax before she inadvertently injured herself further. When she thought she had regained a tenuous control over herself, an image suddenly appeared in her mind. It came unbidden; Raelyn had tried to keep the image from her mind, knowing that it would only serve to increase her despair.

Anders.

Tears fell from her eyes once more at the thought of the other mage, her shoulders beginning to shake as she wept and her mouth filling with the acrid taste of blood once more. While she and Teagan had been traveling in southern Ferelden, Anders had always been the first thought she had upon waking and the image of his face carried her to sleep at night. Her heart leaped when they began to make their way toward Denerim, knowing that her reunion with Anders was not long off. She had realized on their journey that Anders was not just a random dalliance. Something else had been awakening inside her and she knew that he had been feeling it too. It sang between them as they parted, a song within their shared taint that only they could hear and understand. They had planned on exploring this new avenue when they were reunited after her mission. Now, it looked like it would never happen.

Raelyn's tears continued to fall as her body slumped forward in the saddle as much as the lashings around her would allow. The thought that she had already spent her last moments with Anders filled her with despair, the place that he held in her heart nearly crushed by the weight of her sorrow. He would never know how she felt about him if these templars had their way. She would never hear his voice again, never laugh at his silly comments, never brush her fingers through his silky hair or along his smooth skin. Never play with Ser Pounce again.

The horse she was on came to a halt as one of the templars called for a stop. An armored hand tightly gripped her shoulder a moment later, roughly pulling her forward and to the side. A second hand gripped the back of her head through the hood and she heard the familiar and dreaded words spoken in a deep gravelly voice near her ear. Her head began to spin madly as her mana was drained, forcibly ripped from her. Every nerve in her body screamed in agony and she burned as if her blood had transformed into liquid fire within her veins. The thought was ironic, considering what the templars were planning for her. Raelyn struggled to stay conscious, even focusing on the words the templar was growling into her ear as she fought the blackness threatening to consume her. All she wanted to do was let the looming darkness take her, but part of her feared what lay there. In her desperation and weakness, she would be easy prey for any demon that sensed her in the landscape of the Fade. She feared that in her pain, weakness, and despair, she would find it difficult to resist any beguiling offer a demon may make.

After several moments of listening to the Canticles of Transfiguration growled into her ear, the templar gave thanks to the Maker and sat Raelyn upright in the saddle once more. Raelyn slowly opened her sticky eyes, seeing nothing but the suffocating blackness within her hood. The horse began to move forward again, her body swaying listlessly in the saddle. As she fought to clear the cobwebs from her mind, Raelyn heard crickets chirping in the distance and listened as the hoof beats of the horse changed from the dull thud of dirt to the clicking of walking on cobblestones. A crier called out and one of the templars in their entourage responded, saying their destination was the templar compound within the Grand Cathedral.

They had reached Denerim.

Through the haze of pain and despair, Raelyn recognized the sound of what she thought was a gate opening and felt her horse begin to move forward again. She could sense when they passed through the gate, the sound of armored footsteps and hoof beats echoing off the walls and adding to the sense of foreboding she felt. The horses moved over cobblestone streets that were seemingly empty of life. Raelyn heard only the occasional footsteps and voices of others, always falling quiet as they approached and she could swear she heard their footsteps hurry away from them. Raelyn was lulled into a painful haze by the steady rhythm of hoof beats and the sway of the horse beneath her, the pain of the bridle combining with listlessness, hunger, and thirst. Despair threatened to pull her back into the abyss.

Through the haze, Raelyn began to feel a buzzing in her head not brought on by her pain and weakness. The buzz felt like she was running a high fever and it made the blood crawl under her skin like a living creature. She tried to push aside the pain from the bridle, concentrating what energy she could on the pull of her blood.

_Darkspawn? In the city? At least I'll be killed like a Warden. Has to be better than what these bastard templars have planned. Sorry to ruin your fun, tin bucket assholes._

A voice cut through the haze in Raelyn's mind; the voice of the Knight Commander. He sounded righteously angry. Whatever they were facing, she was going to cheer on whoever had made the Knight Commander so angry.

"Men of Andraste and the Maker, to arms!"

* * *

The streets in this part of Denerim were nearly empty, a small blessing for which Knight Commander Deiniol had been grateful. He had not often traveled to Denerim, seeking instead to fulfill his duties either in his home village or at the glorious Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux in the service of the Divine. However, duty called him to leave his home and venture east and if that was what the Maker required of him, he would fulfill that task and gladly.

As his entourage passed through the gate, Deiniol saw the few people on the street turning to look at their grand entourage, a testament to the glory of the Maker and his righteous cause. He sat higher in his saddle, chest thrust outward in pride as they wound their way through the side streets of Denerim on their way to the templar compound. They were warriors in the Maker's army, blessed to be given the opportunity to bring His will to fruition, to help bring about the Maker's glorious return to his faithful.

The Chantry teaches that once the Chant of Light is spread to all corners of the world and all peoples sing it as one, the Maker will return. Those that did not believe in the glory of the Maker—apostates, maleficars, and other nonbelievers—needed to be brought back to the Maker's path one way or another. Those that came to the Maker's path of their own volition were openly welcomed and loved. All others needed to be brought back to the Maker through the cleansing fire. It was how Andraste herself was brought to the Maker's side. It was appropriate that those needing salvation, like the mage and her collaborator behind him, were delivered to the Maker and his Bride through the cleansing of fire.

Deiniol let his thoughts wander as their entourage slowly made their way through the darkened alleys and lightly populated streets on their way to the templar compound. His service to the Maker stretched back over two decades, most of that time spent hunting apostates and maleficars to send them to the Maker. It was his sacred duty to ensure the evil of mages did not spread further among the Maker's faithful. They were abominations, affronts to the Maker and his Bride. Mages were the ones who breached and corrupted the Maker's Golden City. Mages brought the plague of darkspawn upon the Maker's children.

Deiniol's templar training began in his home village in western Ferelden when he was but a boy, studying and memorizing the Chant of Light, specifically the entire Canticle of Transfigurations. He was the first in his small class to have memorized the entire Canticle, standing in front of his family and friends during services and reciting the Canticle from beginning to end without so much as a single error. His parents gave him wide smiles of pride, the priest commented on his perfect inflections and the visiting Knight Commander from Val Royeaux tousled his hair, saying that he would be an exceptional templar when he was older. The Knight Commander, Gerard, visited Deiniol whenever he traveled to the village, eventually becoming Deiniol's mentor and taking to Val Royeaux to meet the Divine when he was old enough to begin formal templar training.

It was during a trip to Val Royeaux with several templar candidates from his village that Deiniol met Sister Margaux for the first time. She was an agent of the Chantry, seeking to destroy the most dangerous of mages and maleficars throughout Thedas before they could spread their poisonous dissent to other mages who were not truly faithful to the Maker and repentant of their evil ways.

The mages in Ferelden were given more freedom than they were granted in other parts of Thedas. At least in Kirkwall, the templars kept the mages under their close scrutiny; even the most senior enchanters needed express permission to leave their Circle. The Gallows, Deiniol heard it called in passing; a fitting name. The mages in Ferelden, once they survived the Harrowing ritual, were allowed far too much freedom. They could be hired out to the nobles in Ferelden and travel to other cities; they could even serve in the armies! It was far too much freedom as far as Deiniol was concerned. Wandering mages were free to spread their dissent virtually unchecked.

The mages in Ferelden worried those of Deiniol's village and that concern had spread north to Val Royeaux. Sister Margaux was sent to their little village often, seeking the most fervent of men and women to become templars and serve the Maker as hunters of apostates and maleficars. Deiniol would be traveling to Val Royeaux in the near future, taking another small group of villagers north. One of the recruits, Elis Burne, had recently been killed in Amaranthine as he worked the Maker's will. Deiniol had been saddened to hear of Elis' passing, his grief tempered by the joy he felt at Elis now being at the Maker's side. Deiniol had made a solemn vow to both Sister Margaux and the Maker when the Sister prepared to leave for Amaranthine with Elis: he would see that the reign of unholy terror levied upon the Maker's children ended should Elis fail in his task. Deiniol would save those in Amaranthine that trembled under the mage's blasphemous rule.

Deiniol glanced to his left, watching as Arl Eamon and his retinue broke off toward his Denerim estate. The Arl was someone Deiniol hoped could further their cause to hasten the Maker's return to His children. Eamon was a man with considerable influence in Ferelden; he would be instrumental in bringing the Fereldens back to the Maker's path. It was clear Ferelden was falling off the Maker's path with the appointment of a mage as ruler of Amaranthine. The Crown of Ferelden had forgotten the most basic tenant of the Chantry's teachings: magic should serve and never rule. Amaranthine's people had also forgotten, for true followers of the Maker would never willingly follow a mage. Hopefully, the Arl would be able to help guide the Maker's children to the right path once again.

A sharp hiss from a nearby templar caused Deiniol to end his musing. The Knight Commander looked ahead and saw that two of his templars had pulled their horses to a stop and began murmuring between themselves. Deiniol maneuvered his horse between his two men, seeking to discover why they had stopped.

Ahead of them, standing in the middle of the narrow street, stood a lithe figure in simple dark clothing with a hood covering his head, the face obscured in shadow. A prickle went up Deiniol's spine as he cast his eyes about. His retinue was on a narrow street near the Denerim Alienage, an area of the city containing warehouses, granaries, and several small tanners and weapons smiths. The streets were dimly lit and deserted, the workers long since leaving their employers for home.

"You there! Make way!"

The figure standing in the road simply watched the templars and their retinue, arms at its sides in a nonthreatening manner, making no move to leave. Deiniol thought it may simply be a drunkard in the street, too inebriated to comprehend his words. If it was not a drunkard, it was surely a fool. The figure stared at the templars for several moments, not moving.

"Make way for the Maker's men. Move aside or I shall move you myself."

The figure simply remained standing in place, neither moving nor saying a word.

Scoffing loudly, Deiniol slid off his horse, handing the reins to one of the templars next to him. He began to approach the figure in the road, hand near the hilt of his sword. If the figure would not move on its own, Deiniol would have to move the person himself. As he approached the figure, he saw that the person was not wearing simple dark clothes with a long cloak, but a hooded robe. It also became clear that the figure's face was not only obscured by the hood, but also by a cloth tied around its face to hide their features. Alarm quickly blossomed in the Knight Commander as he saw a white glow suddenly form around the figure's hands. Movement came from the shadows as other figures emerged, drawing weapons.

_Apostates! "_Men of Andraste and the Maker, to arms!"

All hell broke loose with a flick of the figure's wrists.

* * *

Raelyn heard the angry shout of the Knight Commander and strained to listen to what was happening around her. She sensed magical energies nearby, one source definitely in front of them, the other off to the side. She sluggishly opened her eyes, seeing faint flashes of light through the coarse weave of the hood over her head. The clash of metal on metal was heard, shouts of surprise and grunts of pain coming from the templars around her. Magical energies swirled about; whatever was casting spells must be whispering because she heard no voices. The horse fidgeted nervously under her and moved away from the heart of the battle, her body swaying listlessly in the saddle. The pull on her blood grew in intensity from all around her, the maddening crawling sensation adding to her haze of pain. Angry templar voices called out challenges, but there were no responses in return from the attackers. She felt her brows furrow; darkspawn always roared and gnashed their teeth when they fought. These were completely silent. Were their attackers the new, intelligent darkspawn that she had heard about? Her eyes began to feel heavy as an unnatural urge to sleep tugged on them. Focusing her will, she fought the urge to sleep and attempted to open herself further to the taint, trying to determine just how many of the creatures surrounded them. Raelyn froze, her heart nearly leaping into her throat as the song of the taint filled her.

It was familiar.

One by one, the voices of the templars fell silent as the sounds of battle began to wane. The sounds of metal scraping against stone were heard once the templars had fallen silent, the metallic sounds quickly followed by the creaking of hinges. Quick yet quiet footsteps approached and she felt someone climb onto the horse behind her, reaching around her sides to grip the reins as the horse began to move, the rider behind her urging the horse to move quickly. Another set of hoof beats quickly approached and Raelyn felt her heart begin to thump in her chest.

The horse began to slow moments later and Raelyn could sense them entering a building of some kind. Faint light penetrated the hood on her head and she heard urgent footsteps moving toward her. The taint suddenly roared to life around her as the ropes lashing her to the saddle began to loosen. Gentle hands guided her out of the saddle and to her feet once the last of the ropes lashing her in place was pulled away. She felt her bonds being cut behind her as the hood covering her head was gently lifted away. The dim light around her assaulted her eyes, nearly forcing them shut but she fought to keep them open by will alone. They were in what appeared to be a warehouse, crates and boxes stacked neatly against the walls around them. Her eyes then focused on the figure before her, tall, lithe, and dressed in a dark cloak and robes with a hood pulled over its head and a mask of cloth concealing the face.

"Maker's breath, what have they done to you?" Shock and disbelief were plainly heard in the familiar voice.

Tears began to fall from Raelyn's eyes as the figure before her yanked the hood and mask away, revealing to her a mussed mop of strawberry blonde hair and a face she thought she would never see again. The last of the ropes binding her wrists and arms fell away, her arms swinging forward to rest heavily at her sides, tingling as the blood flowed freely back into them. Raelyn watched as Sergeant Joanna moved from behind her, a look of pity and anger crossing her face at the sight of the cruel bridle.

Anders swallowed, his voice cracking with emotion. "Hold still, love. I'll make this as quick as possible."

Anders reached to the back of Raelyn's head to where the lock securing the bridle in place lay. He whispered the words to a spell of ice, freezing the lock within his hands. Raelyn felt the chill against her head and then a quick thump as something struck the lock, shattering it into fragments. Anders pulled the leather straps away from her head, his expression hardening as he coaxed her injured mouth open with gentle fingers to remove the spiked metal plate. She watched his expression turn to rage as the plate was removed, a thin tendril of blood trailing away from it and back to her mouth.

"Save the device."

Shifting her eyes to the left, Raelyn watched as Loghain and Lhiannon freed Teagan from his bonds. Both were wearing dark leather armor and hooded cloaks, the cloths covering their faces pulled down. Loghain's attention was focused on Anders as he spoke. "We will need them as evidence." Joanna reached for the bridle in Anders' hand and gave it to Lhiannon, who slipped both of them into a pack at her side.

Anders' reply was little more than a growl as he watched the cruel device disappear into Lhiannon's pack, his teeth clenched tightly together in rage. "I had no intention of doing otherwise." Anders returned his attention to Raelyn, his gaze softening slightly. Holding her gaze with his, he reached into his robes and ripped a piece of his under clothing away. He conjured a ball of ice and wrapped the cloth around it, quickly changing the chant to one of fire, melting the ice and warming the water that now soaked the cloth. With gentle fingers, Anders reached up and began to dab lightly at Raelyn's mouth. She grimaced in pain, watching the cloth quickly turn red as Anders wiped the dried and caked blood away from her mouth. His other hand came up to gently brush her face and the warm tickle of healing magic spread through her mouth, the pain beginning to subside. Anders leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on the skin between her eyes, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled away.

"Feeling better?"

Raelyn slowly nodded, a small smile crossing her features. Her face felt stiff, her mouth still sore despite Anders' healing spell. "Talking…hurts," she said, her voice cracking and her tongue feeling thick in her mouth. Just breathing through her mouth hurt. "Sigrun…?"

"She's..."

"Anders," Loghain's gruff voice called out quietly, "talk later. We need to move before the templars wake up from the spell and begin to search the area."

"Where are we?" Teagan's voice was hoarse and halting much like Raelyn's own. He barely moved his lips or jaw, clearly in some discomfort even after being healed by Lhiannon. The Warden Commander ushered those gathered to a far corner of the room where a door lay beyond several stacked wooden crates.

"A warehouse near the Alienage," Lhiannon explained, grabbing a pack off one of the crates and pulling two cloaks from inside, handing one to both Teagan and Raelyn. Anders helped Raelyn pull hers on as Teagan stiffly shrugged into his with help from Loghain. "As Loghain said, we need to move quickly to the Warden compound. You'll be safe with us until the Landsmeet."

"The templars will be looking for you," Loghain added, pulling the hood of his cloak back over his head. "They cannot know it is we that have found you. They believed they were ambushed by street thugs. You will have to stay within the compound out of sight until the Landsmeet starts."

The party exited the warehouse into an alley at the rear, several different horses tied to a nearby post. Raelyn looked to Anders, her brows rising and a small grin tugging on the corner of her mouth? "A surprise?"

Anders nodded, helping Raelyn onto one of the horses before climbing into the saddle behind her. He leaned forward, murmuring into her ear. "Oh, indeed."

"Stay quiet," Lhiannon ordered, pulling herself onto one of the horses. Loghain moved to sit behind her. They had to double up on two of the horses, now that there were six people and only four horses. "No conversation until we are safely within the compound."

The companions moved through the dark streets of Denerim as quickly as they could without raising suspicion. The streets were mostly empty but they were going to take no chances. Raelyn watched the buildings pass by, leaning back into Anders behind her. She would not feel safe until she was within the walls of the compound, but having Anders behind her, an arm wrapped around her waist, was as promising a start as she could hope for.

When the small party arrived at the Warden compound and was safely inside, Lhiannon decided that a debriefing of Teagan and Raelyn could wait until morning. She could see that both of them were dirty, hungry, and exhausted and did not want to add to their burden right away, "We'll meet in the Commander's office at the ninth toll of the bell tomorrow morning," she began, looking with a sympathetic eye at both Teagan and Raelyn as Anders cast a healing spell on Teagan. "Tonight, I order the two of you to rest. Teagan, I know you are not a Warden, but I'm still ordering you." A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'll brook no argument from you."

Teagan snorted in amusement. "No arguments tonight."

Raelyn held up a hand, asking silently for the Commander's attention. She swallowed hard, her face still stiff and sore. "Sigrun?"

A smile crossed the Commander's face. "She's safe, Raelyn, but recovering from several injuries. You'll see her in the morning, I promise. Now, I don't want to have to discipline you for disobeying your Commander's order to rest." A mischievous grin crossed her features as her eyes moved from Raelyn to Anders and back. Lhiannon winked at her old friend. "Warden Anders, your orders are to make sure Warden Raelyn _rests_ tonight."

"I think I can handle that," Anders said, returning Lhiannon's wink before placing his hand at the small of Raelyn's back. "Come, _Warden_. We wouldn't want to cross our Commander."

Raelyn snorted, a lopsided grin crossing her face. "Yes, Commander," she said, letting Anders guide her through the dark halls of the compound to his room. The door was barely closed and bolted behind them when Raelyn felt herself pulled into Anders' embrace from behind, his arms gently yet possessively holding her.

"I've missed you, love. I feared the worst…" he said, breathing in the scent of her hair as his voice trailed off. She was dirty and in dire need of a bath but Anders found himself not caring. She could be covered in darkspawn filth and it would be the sweetest smell in the world, so long as she was with him. He pulled back and gently turned her around, watching as a hand rubbed at her face. Anders gently brushed her hand away, lightly placing his hand on her face, stroking her lips with his thumb. The blue glow of healing magic surrounded his hand, spreading onto Raelyn's face as the spell worked. Anders saw her face relax and heard her sigh softly.

"You'll still be sore for a day or two, but it should feel a bit better now. Does it?"

With a smile, Raelyn reached up and brushed a lock of Anders' hair behind his ear, nodding slowly. She stepped closer to Anders, reaching up to brush her lips against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips still lightly fluttering against his. He wanted to do more, wanted to plunge his tongue into her mouth and taste her but he feared hurting her. She had been through enough pain in the last few days and the last thing he wanted to do was add more. He pulled away slightly, running his fingertips over her temple, down her cheek and to her neck. His body burned with want for her, tempered only by his fear of hurting her.

"Are you sure about this? I don't want to hurt you..."

Raelyn's finger came to rest on his lips, gently pressing his lips to still their movements. She smiled, opening her mouth slightly. "Want this. Want _you." _Her smile turned into a mischievous grin. "Bath first. Join me?"

"It will be the fastest bath ever," Anders said, pulling her toward the small stone tub behind a plain privacy screen, heating the water with a flame spell as Raelyn slowly undressed before him, her movements languid and sinuous. Anders found the words of his spell dying away more than once as he watched her undress until she finally stopped, placing her hands on her hips with brows raised, her expression one of humorous impatience.

"Sorry," Anders said, a grin spreading across his face. "I was distracted." He quickly finished heating the water, hurriedly undressing after he helped Raelyn into the tub. He slid into the water behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her close for a few moments before helping her bathe.

When they finished, he helped her climb out of the tub, reaching for one of his robes to wrap her in. She tugged on his arm before he could move and pressed herself against him, her hands desperately clutching him to her as she sealed her mouth over his, ignoring the residual pain. His arms wrapped around her wet skin as he opened his mouth to deepen their kiss. The heat built to a crescendo between them, the taint in their blood singing a song of joyous reunion.

* * *

_A/N: I decided I wanted to write the rescue from Raelyn's point of view. We had Teagan's point of view last chapter, so I thought I'd use Raelyn for the rescue. We'll hear more of how the battle went down in the next chapter. After all, neither Raelyn nor Teagan "saw" what happened. I also wanted to give you a bit of Deiniol's personal thoughts and beliefs._

_Many thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, Jessie Long, cloud1004, Dark Chubb, JackOfBladesX, Tyanilth, Dante Alighieri, Arsinoe, Kendoka Girl, and Ventisquear._

_As always, thanks to everyone who takes time out of their day for my tale.  
_


	37. Under Cover of Darkness

The first light of day filtered through the light curtains of the room, putting Loghain into silhouette as Lhiannon opened her eyes. He was sleeping on his side and facing her, a lock of his unbound hair resting across his cheek. It was at times like this, when he was most relaxed, that he looked younger than his years, younger than the lines on his face and the circles under his eyes would otherwise claim. The metal of his wedding band caught the slight light in the room and winked at her, reminding her once more that he was hers, now and always. With a small smile, Lhiannon reached over and brushed the lock behind his ear, the tips of her fingers lightly brushing his skin. Loghain sighed sleepily, turning to lie on his back with an arm thrown over his eyes.

_Oh, still sleepy are we? I wonder how quickly I can wake him up…_

Loghain had pushed the blankets down to his waist, leaving his bare chest exposed, rising and falling gently as he slept. With a grin, Lhiannon allowed her eyes to sweep across his bare skin, across the network of scars she knew as intimately as her own and down to where his waist was obscured by the light covers. With two fingers, she carefully pulled the blanket up and away from his body, letting it fall near his knees. Slowly and carefully moving so as not to wake him before she was ready, she moved closer to him, leaning over and lightly brushing her lips against a nipple on his chest. She lightly ran her tongue over it and gently suckled, feeling the small peak stiffen under her touch. Not wanting the other side to feel neglected, she leaned over farther, her lips leaving a soft trail in their wake as she brushed the other nipple with her tongue.

"Perhaps you should awaken me every day with your mouth, minx."

Loghain's sleepy voice was accompanied by his arms wrapping around her, first pulling her up to his mouth for a blistering kiss before guiding her down toward the part of him that required her attention, the part of him that she could see rapidly stiffening beneath the thin cloth of his sleeping pants. As she straddled him and set about to uncovering what he wished her to, she felt his hand bury itself in her dark hair, his calloused fingers gently brushing her scalp. He made a small noise between a sigh and a groan as she wrapped her lips around him, her lips and tongue caressing his smooth, heated flesh.

Loghain watched as Lhiannon's head moved, her hair spilling around her face to tickle his flesh and drive him toward release. It coiled within him, a tensing and tightening of his nerves before his release came. He groaned in pleasure as he thrust his hips, driving himself further inside Lhiannon's mouth. She took his seed, sighing through her nose as she did so. After a moment, she moved up his body and laid her head on his chest, her hands resting on his sides. The strong, steady beat of his heart was perhaps her favorite sound in the entire world, the thrum of life within him defying the death that coursed through their veins. Loghain gently caressed her head as she listened to his beating heart, a thumb brushing the smooth skin of her cheek.

"You seem no worse for wear after the fight yesterday," Loghain mused, brushing a hand over Lhiannon's shoulder. He felt her tense and wince slightly at his touch. He sat up, sitting her upright with him and lifting the hem of her nightshirt, a shirt that had been one of his own until she had usurped it. Her right shoulder was a mass of dark bruising despite the healing she had received for it. Leaning forward, Loghain brushed his lips over the injury, eliciting a light chuckle from Lhiannon.

"Though that move looked impressive, it was foolish," Loghain said, the sting of his chastisement negated by the trail of kisses he left along her skin.

"Ah, but it did work. Think you can kiss the injury and make it better?" Lhiannon grinned, her hands stroking the smooth skin of his back.

A slight scoff came from Loghain, the exhale of his breath warming Lhiannon's skin as his lips continued to flutter across the injured flesh. "I assume you will regale Teagan and Raelyn with the tale of how you received this injury?"

"Of course I will," Lhiannon said, her arms wrapping around her beloved husband. "It's too good an exploit to not share." A grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. "You did look quite fetching dressed as a bandit. Your idea worked rather well."

"I was an outlaw in my youth, though not by choice. It was the usurper that forced my family's hand and drove us to such."

With a swift move, Loghain divested Lhiannon of her nightshirt, pushing her back onto the bed as he lay on top of her. He buried his face in the side of her neck, suckling the sensitive flesh as she giggled softly below him. "You're going to make us late for the debriefing, Loghain."

Loghain chuckled low against her skin, a shiver of want shooting down Lhiannon's spine to settle into her core. Her blood began to heat, her heart thrumming in concert with Loghain's just above hers. "Then perhaps you should stop talking, dear wife, and start concentrating on…other things."

She needed no urging as she wrapped her legs around Loghain's waist, offering her body in a silent demand of want. She urged him on with a low moan and fingernails raking down his back as he entered her with a thrust of his hips.

* * *

_The darkness was suffocating, dark, hot, and unending. She was standing on her feet, wrists tied tightly together behind her, other ropes wrapped around her thighs, her waist, and her chest. She was lashed to something…_

_Suddenly, the darkness ended and light assaulted her eyes, each ray of light a prick of pain against them. She blinked rapidly, seeing blurry shapes in front of her. The images began to coalesce into templars, fully armored and holding weapons in their hands, watching as she struggled against the ropes that lashed in to...a pole?_

_Awareness began to dawn, a dark terror that oozed from her pores like the cold sweat that broke over her body. She looked down, seeing wood and kindling piled around her feet, the acrid smell of grease coating some of the pieces. As she looked up, she saw a priest standing amidst the templars, murmurings of a prayer leaving her lips to be echoed by the templars. They began to sway in unison, their chanting growing to a fever pitch. She continued to struggle against the restraints as the priest approached, a lit torch suddenly in woman's hand. She screamed as the priest threw the torch onto the kindling at her feet, the blaze roaring to life around her. She felt the heat baking her skin, flames licking along the bottom of her robes. Her screams tore open her throat, but even above the roar of the flames and her own anguish, the Canticle of Transfigurations burned her ears as the flames consumed her flesh…_

Anders awoke with a start, hearing Raelyn's screams from the bed next to him. He sat bolt upright and saw Raelyn next to him on the bed, curled up into a ball with her hands near her face and fingers turned into claws. Her body twitched madly as she gave voice to her terror. He wrapped himself around her, crooning softly into her ear as he held her.

"Rae, wake up! You're here with me; you're safe…"

With a startled shudder, Raelyn's eyes flew open, wide and unseeing as her screams of terror abruptly ended. A cold sweat broke out over her skin as she trembled, turning and looking at Anders with wide eyes, the panic within them still painfully evident.

"Anders?"

The mage nodded, a gentle hand reaching over Raelyn's shoulder to brush her cheek before he reached down and pulled her tightly against him. With a low murmur, he sent a wave of healing and rejuvenation magic through her, her body relaxing as the soft blue glow washed over her. He leaned forward, placing a soft kiss onto her head. "What was it?"

"A nightmare," Raelyn said, her voice quivering and barely above a whisper. "I dreamed that the templars put their plans for me in motion. They…" Her voice cut off with an audible choke. She brought shaking hands up to her face, sobbing quietly into him, her shuddering causing Anders to pull her instinctively closer to him.

"You don't need to talk about it if you're not ready," Anders said, trying to quash the feeling of dread that settled into his stomach. If Raelyn was not ready to discuss her nightmare or what happened to her in the last few days, he was not going to push her. She would likely tell him in her own time, when she was ready. Forcing the issue was the last thing Anders wished to do.

After several moments, the sound of her quiet sobs and the tension in her body began to fade away. Raelyn took one of Anders' hands in her own, bringing it up to her lips and pressing them gently against the fingertips, kissing each one reverently before kissing the palm. She then turned in his arms, her head resting on the pillow next to his, unbound auburn hair spilling over the pillow and down her body. Anders brushed away a tear that spilled out of her eye, moving his fingers to then brush a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked both beautiful and vulnerable, even with the residual traces of fear still in her eyes. Anders brought his hand back to cup her cheek and watched as she rested her hand on top of his.

"I _hate_ feeling this way," she said, her voice a low growl through clenched teeth. "I _hate_ feeling like I want to jump at every shadow. I _hate_ feeling weak."

"You're not weak, Raelyn. You endured a great deal over the last few days. Many would have simply given up."

"You don't understand," she said, her whisper so low Anders could barely hear it. "I almost did. I wanted to pain to end. I wanted the constant drainings to end. I asked the Maker to just take me so it would all end."

A lump formed in Anders' throat as he listened to Raelyn. His incarceration by the Chantry and templars was often difficult, but never cruel. He had found his hands bound on a number of occasions, but never in such a manner as hers had been. Where his bonds were a matter of precaution taken by the templars against apostate mages, Raelyn's bonds had been cruel and designed specifically to inflict pain as she was secured and silenced. Anders knew that templars were as varied as the grains of sand on a beach; where some templars were kind, others hard of heart. The templars that held Raelyn and Teagan were clearly fanatical and cruel, biased in the worst way against mages. Had he been in her position—forced into a cruel bridle, tightly bound and subjected to constant mana drainings—he likely would have asked the Maker to end his suffering too.

"You're right; I don't understand. But I want to, if you'll let me."

Silence fell between them. Anders stroked her cheek with his thumb, offering his silent comfort. He truly did want to understand what she went through. He also found himself wanting to protect her and ensure that no mage suffered such indignities again. The anger threatened to consume him, his heart beating faster as his anger grew. When Raelyn opened her eyes and looked into his, the anger abruptly and suddenly faded away.

"Thank you, Anders."

"For what, love?"

Raelyn scoffed slightly, a small grin tugging on the corners of her mouth. "For what? Only for coming to my rescue and chasing away the nightmares." The grin faltered slightly. "For not pushing me to talk about what happened just yet. I know the Commander will want to know and I'm preparing myself for it, but it's still…very difficult to think about." She took a deep breath, attempting to keep herself from crying once again. "I just don't _understand_ it, Anders. I've known Eamon for _years._ Why would he _do_ this?"

Still stroking her cheek with his thumb, Anders watched as Raelyn composed herself once more, a spark of anger flashing in her eyes as he spoke. "I don't know, love. But if I know Lhi and Loghain, they won't stop until they find out what all he's up to. Something is amiss, that much is frightfully obvious."

As they spoke, they heard the bell outside begin to ring. They silently counted as the bell rang eight times, a crier calling out the news of the hour. Raelyn turned her gaze back to Anders, the spark of fire in her eyes replace by the glimmer of mirth. A corner of her mouth pulled upward as she shimmied closer to Anders, pressing her body flush against his. With a gentle push, she maneuvered her top leg between his while one of her hands moved along his body, resting on and then gently squeezing his backside.

"How fast could you get presentable while you were in Kinloch Hold? Before the templars caught you engaged in…activities?"

Anders grinned mischievously, his hands running down her body as he gently pressed his lips to her forehead, then down her nose and finally her lips. "I may be a bit out of practice. Let's say we work on that, shall we?"

* * *

At the tolling of the ninth bell, the Grey Wardens, accompanied by Teagan and Sergeant Joanna, gathered in the dining hall, plates of food set upon the table within easy reach. Lhiannon thought it may be best to start the conversation over breakfast, especially since she and Loghain had barely made it to the hall in time, hurried but sated. She thought they would be the last of the participants in the hall and have to endure the catcalls they would undoubtedly hear, but Anders and Raelyn had arrived after they had, brushing smooth their mage robes and Raelyn smoothing her hair in the universal gesture of feminine embarrassment. Lhiannon grinned to herself; clearly, she and Loghain were not the only ones running late.

Lhiannon watched as Sigrun leaped up from her chair at the sight of first Teagan, then Raelyn, giving each of her friends a firm hug as her light and joyous laugh rang through the dining hall. The dwarf was feeling better, but still moving gingerly from her ordeal.

"I'm so sorry that I left you," she had told each of them, her eyes downcast as the guilt of her fleeing washed over her once more. "I can't help but think I should have done _something_ to help you. I feel like a complete coward."

Teagan and Raelyn both exchanged a small smile before Teagan went down on one knee, bringing his eyes on level with Sigrun's. He put a gentle hand on each of her shoulders. "Sigrun, if it were not for you, the Grey Wardens may never have learned of our plight. What you did was very brave; it was not the act of a coward, but of a brave and noble soul who did what she had to do to help her friends."

"Sig, don't you _dare_ call yourself a coward," Raelyn said, her voice emphatic. "You _saved_ both of us. You risked your own life for us and for that, Teagan and I will always be grateful."

"Well, if you both say so," Sigrun said, her eyes moving between Teagan and Raelyn. "I still don't feel like much of a hero."

As Teagan stood and nodded to Sigrun, Loghain called them all to the table, ready to get the debriefing underway. Before he could bring their meeting to order, Teagan held up a hand as he sat at the table and looked between those gathered: Lhiannon, Loghain, Oghren, Sigrun, Anders, Raelyn, and Sergeant Joanna. "How did you come to find us? I would like to hear the story before we begin, if that is agreeable to you, Commander."

With a nod, Lhiannon took a sip of her honeyed tea. "Of course, Teagan. Well, it all started while Loghain was at Fort Drakon…"

* * *

All in all, the trip to Fort Drakon was time well spent. Loghain met with the commander of the troops stationed at the fort, seeking several individuals that could be evaluated for the Grey Wardens. The commander had expected Loghain's arrival, having been told by King Alistair in their morning briefing that the Ferelden Grey Wardens would be on a recruitment drive while in Denerim. Four volunteers had stepped forward and presented themselves to the commander before Loghain had even arrived. The volunteers—three men and a woman—were sent to the Warden compound, where Loghain would thoroughly test their skills before making a final decision regarding their Joining. He found himself looking forward to it; drills with his soldiers made him feel young and alive, even if it left him bruised and sore for several days afterward.

While Loghain was speaking to the fort's commander in the commander's office, a soldier burst in, breathless and agitated. A heavily armored female dwarf had arrived at the city gates, he said, unconscious across the back of a horse. One of the gate guards, a surface dwarf, recognized the armor as being from the Legion of the Dead—a fellow soldier. The gate guards had quickly brought the woman to the fort, hoping they could wake her to determine who she was and her purpose. They could see she had been injured in the shoulder, the wound weeping and stinking of infection. Her armor was covered in stinking black ichor, dried to a crust and beginning to flake off in spots.

As the soldier spoke, Loghain began to feel a tugging in his blood—the itching, feverish sensation that he knew well. He quickly stood. "Take me to this dwarf," he barked sharply, moving swiftly toward the office door, his footsteps echoing through the small office. The commander and soldier followed quickly, moving to his side as Loghain used his senses to track the source of the pull on his blood, the pull growing stronger with every step he took through the fort toward the infirmary.

"Ser Warden, why are you so interested in this dwarf?"

Loghain rounded a corner near the infirmary, his steps sure; he knew this fort like the back of his own hand. Dread began to worm its way into his gut. Only one Warden fit the description he was given and if she was here alone…questions began to form within Loghain's whirling mind. "I sense a Grey Warden."

As he entered the infirmary, he saw several soldiers and a mage gathered around a cot in the corner, hurriedly pulling dark armor off the prone figure and setting the pieces on the floor under it. As Loghain approached, the soldiers gave him wide eyed stares, automatically parting to allow the imposing Warden access to the injured dwarf.

Loghain's eyes fell on the sickly and feverish form of Sigrun on the cot below him, her eyes sunken and ringed with circles darker than the tattoos on her face. He saw the wound on her shoulder, the unmistakable odor of infection assaulting his nostrils. He turned his attention to the mage. "Is she stable to move? I want to take her to the Warden compound."

"Not unless you have a healer with you there," the mage said, the man's hands moving over the wound on Sigrun's shoulder. "This infection is progressing rapidly. I'll need to open the wound further and bleed it to try and clean it out."

Loghain scoffed loudly, not bothering with any sort of social grace in holding it back. Having his suggestion and plan questioned by this lickspittle served to further his irritation. "I wouldn't advise that for you. There is a Warden healer at our compound. Now, can I move her or not?"

The mage scowled deeply, but nodded. "Let's move quickly then, ser. Your mage had best be adept at the healing arts." Loghain scoffed irritably as he lifted Sigrun into his arms. Anders had likely forgotten more about magical healing than this mage ever knew to begin with.

A soldier was sent ahead to the Warden compound, bringing word that Loghain was coming with an injured Grey Warden. Lhiannon and Anders gathered medical sundries and lyrium potions while Oghren gathered hot water and rags from the kitchens. Loghain came in moments later carrying a limp and feverish Sigrun. He took her to the small infirmary in the compound, setting her on a high table as Anders and Lhiannon began to chant their spells. Loghain gently cleaned the wound with warm water and rags. Oghren offered his flask of home brewed whiskey—"it will clean the wound," he explained—and with a shrug from Lhiannon, Loghain poured some of it on the open wound. Sigrun jerked involuntarily as the liquid hit the wound; had she been conscious, she likely would have attempted to rip Oghren's beard out. After several moments of chanting, the angry wound began to close, an angry red scab sealing the wound shut. Anders began to affix a healing poultice to Sigrun's skin.

"We can do more healing later, but I think we have successfully treated the worst of it," Anders explained, taking a clean rag from Loghain and wiping his sweaty forehead, his voice slightly out of breath. "Her body needs to do some of the healing work; it will heal better that way. Magical healing can only do so much."

Lhiannon smoothed Sigrun's matted hair. "Can we wake her? I'm concerned as to why she's here alone."

"As am I," Loghain agreed. "She was supposed to travel with Teagan and Raelyn through southern Ferelden. If she's here alone, something has plainly gone awry."

With a nod, Anders placed his hand on Sigrun's forehead, the words to a rejuvenation spell filling the space between them. After a few moments of chanting, Sigrun's eyes began to flutter rapidly. She shifted slightly on the table and groaned, her face twisting into a grimace as her hand came up to brush her bandaged shoulder. Slowly, her eyes opened, blinking rapidly as she adjusted to the light. Her gaze finally focused on Lhiannon and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Ancestors' tits, I actually made it to Denerim. I feel like crap though."

"I don't doubt it," Lhiannon grinned, taking Sigrun's hand and squeezing it lightly. "Sigrun, what's happened? Where are Teagan and Raelyn?"

"Lhi, they're in trouble," Sigrun said, struggling to sit up. Anders and Lhiannon put their hands on Sigrun, gently guiding her to a sitting position as she rubbed the injury on her shoulder. "Big trouble. Arl Eamon and a bunch of soldiers and templars caught up with us on the road as we were traveling back toward South Reach. He was telling Teagan that Ferelden has fallen off the Maker's path and that you need to be stripped of your titles and face the Maker's justice. He said he was going to hold them as 'guests under his protection' until they arrived in Denerim. I was fishing for dinner and saw them as I returned to camp. I slipped away, grabbed a horse, and left. I had some of his templars chasing me for most of the way."

Loghain scoffed, shaking his head angrily. "Prisoners, more like."

"I'm hoping not, but I fear you may be right. I fear for both of them but with templars involved, I especially fear for Raelyn," Lhiannon said, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to quell the sinking feeling in her stomach.

"And you had a run in with the darkspawn on the way, I assume," Loghain said, indicating the injury on Sigrun's shoulder and pointing to her soiled armor. "How many? Where?"

"Not too many, just a couple of small bands moving toward the Brecilian Forest. They were somewhere between South Reach and Denerim. I kept off the roads so that the templars wouldn't find me, so I can't tell you exactly where."

Lhiannon's mind whirled as the considered Sigrun's words. She looked to Anders, whose face was a mask of barely contained rage. Lhiannon knew Anders and Raelyn were seeing each other, a burgeoning relationship that they were just beginning to explore. He looked up and met Lhiannon's eyes; she saw the anger flashing within them.

"Lhi, we have to watch for them. We can't let the Arl and his bloody templars keep them prisoner."

"We won't let him," Lhiannon said, turning to meet Loghain's gaze. "If Eamon is coming, we need to know when he arrives. I won't let him hold a Grey Warden. He _will_ explain himself."

"We will need to watch the gates for Eamon's arrival," Loghain said, nodding his agreement. "We will be able to sense Raelyn's presence and confront the Arl and his allies when they arrive." He turned his attention to Sigrun. "How far behind you do you estimate the templars to be?"

"I'm not sure," Sigrun said, her forehead bunching as she thought. "We were not far west of South Reach when the Arl confronted us."

Loghain began to calculate distances in his head. "How long were you moving on your own?"

"A couple of days, I think. Time seemed to run together," Sigrun said, her eyes becoming downcast. "I just left them...left them in danger...I feel so guilty for just _leaving_ them..."

"_No_, Sigrun," Lhiannon said, putting her arm around the dwarf. "You did what you needed to. We know now that Teagan and Raelyn are not simply delayed. We will do everything we can to help them. Had you not arrived, we may never have known what happened."

"If they are indeed moving toward Denerim, they could be here at any time. We need to make ready to find them," Loghain said, his piercing gaze falling to all those gathered. "Oghren, you will remain here at the compound with Sigrun. If anyone comes looking for the Wardens—specifically the Commander and myself—you can say we are indisposed."

Oghren's low chuckle of amusement filled the space between them. "Heh heh, don't you worry. Ol' Oghren will tell 'em a newlyweds story that will put their knickers in a knot." Lhiannon felt her eyes roll skyward as Loghain snorted from beside her.

Folding her arms over her chest, Joanna frowned, a troubled look crossing her dark complexion. "But how will we know which direction they will go once they enter the city? We can't afford to guess. We will spread ourselves too thin trying to cover all avenues."

Loghain's piercing gaze fell to Joanna; he was quickly coming to appreciate the soldier's foresight. "In all my years in Denerim, I have observed that templars always report to the templar compound within the grounds of the Grand Cathedral and only take one of two routes there. They will take the main streets if they wish to show off themselves or their prize and will stick to the back alleys if they wish to travel covertly or with a minimum of fuss."

"Which way do you see them taking?"

"If I were seeking to travel to the Grand Cathedral with a minimum of attention, I would take the back alley."

With a nod of agreement, Lhiannon looked to both Anders and Joanna. "Make yourselves ready then. They won't hold a Warden prisoner if I have anything to say about it. I doubt the King will allow it either."

The Wardens and Joanna made move to leave, but stopped as Loghain held up a hand. "Dress yourselves in your darkest clothing and armor. We will have the appearance of common street thugs. Wear nothing with insignias of any type." Loghain turned his attention to Anders. "If you must take a staff, make sure it is as plain and common a staff as you possess. Take nothing that is unique."

Anders scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "I can cast just fine without a staff."

"Then make yourselves ready now," Lhiannon ordered, standing straight as she prepared to dismiss her people. "We leave for the city gates as soon as everyone is prepared."

* * *

As darkness fell over the city, the Grey Wardens—dressed in their nondescript dark armor and cloaks—waited near the city gates for the pull on their blood that signaled Raelyn's approach. Butterflies fluttered in Lhiannon's stomach as she waited, a dark scarf pulled up over her face not only to ward off the chill the darkness brought upon the city, but to hide her features from those that had no need to see them.

A tower guard patrolled the walls above where Lhiannon waited, fidgeting and shifting her weight from foot to foot. _If Loghain was here instead of at his post, he'd surely grumble at me to keep still_. The guard held a spyglass in hand, sweeping it over the road leading away from the city gates as he stood watch. As Lhiannon began to consider delaying the mission, the guard softly called down to her, informing her of an approaching group of riders, heavily armored and carrying banners. The guard, unfortunately, could not discern the images that no doubt graced the banners. Lhiannon closed her eyes, casting out her tainted senses in the hopes of feeling the unmistakable pull of a Warden on her blood. She was nearly ready to pull her senses back in bitter defeat when she felt a slight tug on her blood that was not from the Wardens stationed nearby. With a wave of her hand, she sent the signal to the other Wardens to move into position as the gatekeepers and approaching riders called out to each other. Their greetings confirmed that the riders were indeed templars and Arl Eamon's entourage.

The Wardens waited in the shadows as the group of riders entered the city and began to move along the deserted main avenue, the footsteps of the horses echoing against the buildings around them. After following the riders for several minutes, the Wardens watched as the entourage split in two; one set heading for the market district while the other turned down a lightly traveled, narrow street near the elven Alienage. Two hooded figures accompanied the heavily armored group traveling near the Alienage. Even in the low light, Lhiannon saw the unmistakable full face helmets and armor that only templars wore. The other group of riders—most likely the Arl and his men—would have to continue on their way.

Loghain and Anders moved among the shadows along the street as Lhiannon and Joanna moved carefully and quietly along the overlapping rooftops to watch the progress of the templars from overhead. When the templars and their two hooded prisoners came closer to the Alienage, Loghain whistled a quiet signal alerting the either Wardens to be ready.

Anders watched as the templars approached, seeing the heavily bound prisoners perched on horses traveling in the center of the circle of riders. The figure that was Teagan sat somewhat straight in the saddle, though Anders could see the exhaustion in the set of his shoulders. The figure that was Raelyn listed in the saddle, her head lolling forward and ropes lashed around her to keep her in the saddle. Anders' anger at what he saw was barely contained; he could feel his power thrumming through him, crawling along his skin like angry insects. He cast out his Warden senses, seeking to ascertain Raelyn's condition. Her unique part of the taint was a haze of physical pain and despair. Anders felt his anger grow deeper. _If they've hurt her in any way…_

The quiet whistle of Loghain's signal reached his ears. As the templars approached, Anders stepped out into the street, gathering his power around him. Casting out his Warden senses, he could feel Lhiannon's presence on a balcony nearby and Loghain's presence in the shadows of the building next to him. Flicking his eyes along the rooftops, he saw the dark figure of Sergeant Joanna crouched near a chimney, her crossbow no doubt close at hand. The templar commander dismounted from his horse and came toward Anders after calling out a demand for him to move. As the templar approached, Anders began to weave a spell of ice, his hands glowing white a split second before he threw the spell out ahead of him to engulf the closest templars. Crossbow bolts whistled through the air as Joanna picked her targets with sharp efficiency, her bolts designed to injure and incapacitate rather than kill. The surprised templars began to shout challenges to their attackers.

Lhiannon watched from her vantage point on the balcony as Anders cast a cone of cold toward the lead templars, freezing them in place within seconds. Another templar pulled his horse to a stop in front of her position, pulling his sword and preparing to join the battle. He held the sword up in front of him, the blade nearly touching the front of the full helmet the templar wore. He began to murmur an incantation, preparing to smite the mage in front of them.

They could not afford to have Anders and his spells taken out by a smiting. Taking a deep breath, Lhiannon quickly stood and launched herself off the balcony. She sailed through the air and collided shoulder first into the templar, knocking him off his horse and onto the ground with a loud crash of armor against stone. She landed on him with a grunt, the explosion of pain in her shoulder white and blinding. Forcing the pain aside, she worked to subdue the struggling templar below her. She saw a second templar approach out of the corner of her eye attempting to help his colleague. The flash of a sword drew her attention as Loghain brought the hilt of his weapon down onto the second templar's head with a loud thump, putting a large dent into the full helmet and knocking the templar unconscious. The templar slumped to the ground with the scraping of armor on the cobblestones of the street.

Lhiannon looked up and observed the horses carrying the bound and hooded riders abandoned as the templars left their side to help their floundering colleagues. There was a flash of blue as Anders continued to cast his freezing spells upon the templars. Joanna had climbed down from her vantage point, exchanging her crossbow for two short swords; she and Loghain were engaged in close combat with two templars, one of which appeared to be the commander of the small group. They traded furious blows back and forth, grunts of exertion and pain heard above the crashing of metal on metal. Lhiannon began to whisper a spell of sleep, watching as the templar resistance began to wane.

Anders saw what she was casting and began to help with his own spell, stacking it on top of Lhiannon's spell. One by one, the templars who were not already unconscious began to fall asleep, falling to the ground with a clatter of metal on stone. Loghain and Joanna began to drag unconscious templars into an abandoned warehouse nearby, leaving their riderless horses behind in the street. Joanna and Loghain climbed up on the horses that carried the bound and hooded prisoners while Lhiannon and Anders mounted two of the riderless horses and followed Loghain and Joanna through the deserted streets to another warehouse several blocks away. As they traversed the streets, Lhiannon reached out with her tainted senses to check on Raelyn. The taint she felt between them was a haze of pain and exhaustion. Turning to her side, Lhiannon could feel Anders' unease as they traveled, his worry plainly evident through their shared taint. They arrived at the warehouse several moments later, pulling the horses inside and securing the door behind them. Loghain and Lhiannon guided Teagan off his horse while Joanna and Anders tended to Raelyn. Loghain pulled his hunting knife from his boot, cutting Teagan's bonds while Lhiannon gently removed the hood that covered his head. While she was prepared to see Teagan silenced, Lhiannon was not prepared to see the cruel bridle secured to him, rivulets of dried blood caked on his skin. Reaching around Teagan's head, Lhiannon froze the lock securing the bridle in place and with a well-placed hit from Loghain's hunting knife, the lock shattered into fragments. Lhiannon gently pulled the leather straps and bridle away from Teagan's head, breathing a healing spell toward him as she did so.

"It's not much in the way of healing, but hopefully it _is_ helping."

Teagan nodded with a small smile as the last of his bonds fell away. Turning toward Raelyn, Lhiannon saw that Anders and Joanna had freed her from her bridle and bonds, the soft blue glow of healing magic dancing across Raelyn's skin.

"…and the rest of the story you know," Lhiannon said, setting her fork to the side of her plate and propping her chin on her folded hands. "Teagan, Raelyn; I would now hear of your trip to the west. I understand if you would not rather talk about…more recent days."

* * *

_This is a bit of a filler chapter...they're not my favorite chapters, but they need to be done sometimes. I had to cut this chapter off where I did for a variety of reasons. First, we're over 6500 words already (Shakespira's grocery list strikes again!). Second, this has been a crazy week with work. I wanted to continue listening to the Wardens as they sat around the breakfast table, but work this week has taken a lot out of me mentally. I would rather cut the chapter off now than continue on and give you crap. So, the next chapter continues where this one left off and will also serve as a "refresher" type of chapter; the Wardens will go over what they know of Eamon's exploits immediately before the Landsmeet. Thank you to Shakespira for the idea of a refresher chapter. You are far too good to me, my friend. :)_

_I have a new piece of art out on my deviantArt page. It's not perfect but something I did to calm my mind after a crazy week of work last week. It's here (don't forget to take the spaces out!): http :/josielange. deviantart. com /#/d49dxzy  
_

_Loads of thanks and chocolate chip cookies to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, Darkchubb, cloud1004, Tyanilth, Arsinoe, Jessie Long, Gene Dark (who flooded my inbox, but I loved it!), Kendoka Girl, and Ventisquear. "Retribution" has now officially received more reviews than RA did and in 14 fewer chapters. Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your generous support!_

_Thanks to all you quiet readers as well. Your support is much appreciated.  
_


	38. Pieces on a Game Board

Lhiannon watched as Raelyn pushed her food around her plate, the slight scraping sounds loud in the silence that had descended around them. Lhiannon felt awful for having to push Raelyn into a conversation she likely felt uncomfortable having, but the simple fact of the matter was that they needed whatever information she, and Teagan, could provide. If Eamon was willing to treat his own flesh and blood like something less than human, they needed to know his motivations and quickly. After a moment spent studying her plate, Raelyn looked up at Lhiannon. "No, Commander, it will be all right. You need to hear the story, if nothing else than to tell you how dangerous Arl Eamon and his allies have become." Lhiannon watched as Raelyn took a deep breath to center herself, seeing her calm visibly as Anders slipped an arm around her shoulders in quiet support. "What would you like to know, Commander?"

"Perhaps it would be best to tell the story from the beginning," Loghain said, his voice steady yet holding a compassion Lhiannon rarely heard outside of conversations with each other. "Start at your first visit and come to the present."

Teagan began the conversation first, wanting to give Raelyn a few moments to collect her thoughts. He began by telling those gathered first about the trip to South Reach and Arl Leonas Bryland, where they learned that Arl Eamon called his vassals to Redcliffe after Teagan was removed from Rainesfere and installed the former Redcliffe mayor Murdock as the new Bann of Rainesfere, leaving the town of Redcliffe under Eamon's direct control.

"Eamon is also recalling his soldiers from around the arling and stationing them in Redcliffe proper," Teagan said, reaching for his cup of tea and taking a long drink from the rapidly cooling liquid.

"It sounds as if Eamon is fortifying his position," Loghain surmised, his brows lowering as his hand rubbed his chin. "He has always viewed Redcliffe as 'Denerim of the West'. I care not that he is apparently moving his men like pieces on a game board. I want to know why."

"We also learned that there are increased numbers of templars in both Orzammar and Redcliffe," Raelyn explained, continuing to push her food around her plate as she spoke. "There are also a number of dwarves in Redcliffe that came directly from Orzammar. The theory is the templars are trying to increase either lyrium trade or production, and that the dwarves are the ones to facilitate that."

Lhiannon gasped slightly, the sound barely audible over the scraping of Raelyn's fork on her plate, but audible nonetheless. "An increased number of templars? What in the bloody hell is going on out west?"

"Rumor also has it that the dwarves from Orzammar are scouting the hills around Redcliffe for entrances to the Deep Roads," Teagan said. "I surmised that they were looking for easy ways to find lyrium veins."

A prickle ran up Lhiannon's spine at Teagan's theory. She turned to look at Loghain, her brows raised. "The dwarves know better than anyone that the Deep Roads will be relatively quiet in the immediate aftermath of the Blight. Not only will they want to explore the abandoned thaigs, but they will certainly want to secure more lyrium veins."

"For the Chantry, no doubt," Loghain said, scoffing slightly. "I feel they have deeper pockets than we ever suspected."

Oghren snorted from where he sat above an empty plate, eyeing the doorway to the kitchens as if trying to decide on another helping of food. In the end, he picked up his plate and stood. "Sodding deshyrs will send explorers into the old thaigs looking for loot and fame. The Memories say more than one sodding fool took his house into the Deep Roads after a Blight to reclaim what was lost. Sometimes they could even hold them for a time before the sodding darkspawn overran them again." The dwarf took a few steps away, still speaking as he walked toward the kitchen. "I'd say the lure of finding a new lyrium vein and the pile of money to sit on could drive dwarves into abandoned parts of the Deep Roads. Sodding fools."

A snort of laughter was heard from the other end of the table. Sigrun had her hands over her mouth, her infectious giggles bringing smiles to several faces. "Do you even _know_ how many times we saw chest thumping deshyrs and their grand expeditions go running out of the Deep Roads like their arses were on fire? We'd tell them the darkspawn were dangerous, but would they listen to the Legion? Oh, _no_. We were a bunch of dead men and women walking, so _clearly_ we had no idea what we were talking about."

"I imagine you saw a number of them," Lhiannon said, a smile on her face brought on by Sigrun's giggles. She took another drink of her tea, all business again once she set the cup on the table. "We also need to discuss the Landsmeet and what we will likely face with Eamon."

"There are questions remaining from the days of the Blight that I know the Queen will surely wish to address," Loghain began, ticking points off on his calloused fingers. "Specifically, the question of why he and the Warden Riordan insisted the horde was marching on Redcliffe and not Denerim." Warden or not, Loghain had not trusted Riordan to begin with; the secrets he held until nearly the end still caused Loghain's ire to rise. _What other secrets does Weisshaupt hold and how many have died in the keeping of them?_

A thoughtful look crossed Teagan's still haggard looking face. "Eamon will likely say he was following the advice of a Grey Warden who claimed the horde would be coming to Redcliffe. He sought to protect his lands."

"And at the time," Lhiannon began, resting her chin on her hands, "we believed the horde _was_ going to Redcliffe. We were still relatively inexperienced as Wardens and we had little choice but to take Riordan's word."

"At the expense of Denerim," Loghain said, his voice little more than a growl and his eyes narrowed to slits. "The armies had to endure a forced march to reinforce what troops remained in Denerim because of Eamon's insistence that the horde was on his doorstep. As for Riordan, he had been...indisposed...until just before the Landsmeet. It was Eamon directing matters for most of the time immediately before the archdemon appeared."

Sergeant Joanna placed her utensils on her plate and pushed it away. She raised a finger to speak. "But wasn't most of the horde spotted in western Ferelden at that time?"

"Some, yes," Lhiannon confirmed, "but most of the horde was moving from the south to the north before they turned toward the capital, effectively splitting Ferelden in half. In hindsight, we should have remained in Denerim rather than following Riordan and Eamon to Redcliffe."

Rubbing his chin in thought, Loghain's gaze moved from Joanna's empty plate to her face. "Sergeant, are you finished?"

Joanna nodded crisply. "Yes, Second Warden. Is there something I can do for you?"

"There is," Loghain said, resting his elbows on the top of the table and pointing his index finger at the Sergeant. "Take a message to the palace. It will be verbal, but I will give you a note with my seal identifying you as my messenger. Ask for a private audience with my daughter and if her people balk, show them the missive and tell them you come at the bidding of her father, the Arl of Amaranthine. Wear your armor showing the crest of Amaranthine."

"And what am I to say when I see Her Majesty? What about the King?"

Brows furrowing, Loghain shook his head at Joanna. "It will draw less attention if you appear to simply be a messenger carrying a missive from father to daughter."

Loghain paused for a moment, pondering how he would give Anora a hint of what had transpired the evening before without giving anything away. There were always servants within the palace trying to listen in on conversations between their royals and the messengers that arrived. Always there were those who would sell that information to less scrupulous elements within the city. Information was power, Loghain knew, and with the large amount of nobles in the city for the Landsmeet, many of them used whatever means they could to garner information about the motivations of their political allies and enemies. _Almost Orlesian, Maker help us all. _

He thought of the idiot's code that he and Anora had developed years before; it worked well for them in the past and was innocuous enough where even if someone overhead them, it would sound like nothing but a discussion of mabari breeding stock. Returning his attention to Joanna, Loghain gave her the message.

"When you and the Queen are alone, tell her that my mabari hound master has found three lost mabari and that I shall come to the palace at midday to determine what their new homes shall be and if she would like to add one of them to her kennels before the Landsmeet. She may have a return message for you as well."

A confused look crossed Joanna's face, but she nodded and repeated the phrase to Loghain to make sure she had it correct. After seeing that Joanna had the right of it, Loghain dismissed her so that she could deliver the message right away. Once Joanna had left the dining hall, Loghain returned his attention to the other Wardens and Teagan. "Perhaps it is time for us to have a small recess. With the Commander's permission, let us reconvene in her office in one hour so that we can continue our discussion in private."

* * *

The Wardens and Teagan each found chairs in Lhiannon's temporary office, a carafe of tea and cups resting on a nearby cabinet. Lhiannon sat on the edge of the desk, Loghain next to her as everyone took their seats.

"We need to discuss what we know about Eamon and his actions up to this point," Lhiannon said, her eyes meeting the gaze of each of her Wardens and Teagan. She saved the two most poignant looks for Loghain and Teagan himself. "As the two of you have attended far more Landsmeets than I, I would greatly value any advice or opinions you both have."

"As Alistair mentioned after Isolde's trial, he himself will bring Eamon up before the Landsmeet to answer for his actions. I'm sure that my banishment from Rainesfere will be included," Teagan said once he had poured himself another cup of tea and settled into a chair. "I am not sure at what point of the proceedings he will introduce it. However, even with all the evidence against Eamon, I fear it won't be enough."

"He has already established a pattern of meddling with the Crown and those he feels should either be or not be on the throne," Loghain said, holding up his index finger for emphasis. "Eamon attempted to break up Anora's marriage to Cailan and depose her for that bitch Celene. He also tried to remove her again when he supported Alistair for the throne...alone." Loghain slammed his hand down on the desk; the thought of Eamon's meddling with Anora's legitimate rule and role as Queen of Ferelden always brought his deep anger to the surface. "He accused _me_ of attempting to fracture the nation during the Blight, but his actions in trying to depose the rightful Queen because she wasn't noble enough for him makes him just as culpable in his own way."

Teagan's eyes went wide. "Are you saying he should be tried for high treason?"

"I don't know if what he did could be considered high treason," Lhiannon said. "It would be difficult to prove such a charge." She paused for a moment, turning to gauge Loghain's reaction. He held his face in a carefully neutral expression but Lhiannon could feel his anger burning through their shared taint. There was no doubt he was recalling the dark months that preceded the fall of the archdemon. No matter what his motivations were at the time, Lhiannon knew that bringing up treason would be a double edged sword. While being conscripted into the Grey Wardens negated Loghain's past wrongs, even the whisper of treason within the Landsmeet chamber could cause dissention amongst the nobility. After all, it was treason Loghain himself had been accused of in the days after Cailan's death.

"No," Loghain finally said, his voice careful and neutral. "We cannot put treason forward to the Landsmeet. If we accused him of trying to put an unwilling Alistair forward for the Crown in Anora's place, he could easily turn that against me and the Grey Wardens. He could say my regency was treason against both Cailan and Anora and that the Wardens harbor a regicide, regardless of the Right of Conscription. We will need to focus instead on what he knew of the plot against the Warden Commander and just how deep his involvement in Marjolaine and Isolde's actions ran."

Anders folded his hands together as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Then should we first focus on Eamon's removal of Teagan as Bann of Rainesfere? Was it legal?"

"Eamon claimed he removed me for actions detrimental to the arling," Teagan said. "He never went into express detail, but I am sure it was for testifying against Isolde at her trial. Whether is it legal or not will have to be determined."

Sliding back on the desktop, Lhiannon crossed one leg over the other, her hands wrapping around her knee as she settled into position. "We have to hope then that the evidence and transcripts of the trial will help us negate any arguments Eamon can bring against Teagan, or us for that matter. We also have the letter Isolde gave to Eamon after her escape—the one he gave to Teagan when he was removed from Rainesfere. That letter suggests that Eamon gave aid to an escaped criminal. Hopefully, the evidence is strong enough to show the nobles that your removal was due to nothing more than revenge and that Eamon's actions have aided the attempted destabilization of not only Amaranthine, but the kingdom itself."

"With those transcripts and letters, we should be able to prove that there is a pattern of meddling in the affairs of the Crown—and the Grey Wardens—that needs to end," Loghain said, his voice little more than a growl. "As for removing Teagan, I believe part of that was also to ensure he would not inherit Redcliffe should anything happen to Eamon. With Connor at the Circle of Magi, Teagan was the rightful heir of Redcliffe again." Loghain snorted derisively, the sound filling the room. "For all Eamon's royalist bent, Redcliffe now has no Guerein heir. That is unless he plans on taking another woman and getting her with child."

"That ain't an image I need in my head," Oghren growled, his face wrinkling in revulsion. "Just the thought of Eamon puffing and sweating on top of…"

"Stop," Teagan cried out, his voice filled with horror as he waved his hands in front of him. "This is still my brother we're talking about and I most certainly do _not_ want to think about…_that."_

Not sure if she was going to laugh or choke, Lhiannon held a hand up for order. "Let's get back to the subject at hand and _not_ discuss who Eamon may or may not be sleeping with. What we _do_ know and can prove with the transcripts is that Eamon _knew_ of Isolde's plans to do me harm."

"Eamon knew of Isolde's—and by extension, Marjolaine's—plans to assassinate you," Loghain said, crossing his arms over his chest. Just saying the word _assassinate_ to Lhiannon nearly brought his rage back to the surface. They _had_ to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. They had been making progress toward cutting off the head of that snake when the Mother's army attacked the Vigil, the battle inadvertently aiding in Isolde's escape. Their speculation was that Isolde had somehow crossed the border into Orlais and that she most likely had help to do so. It was maddening to Loghain, knowing that that ridiculous Orlesian bitch was somewhere loose in Thedas, free to cause Maker knows what trouble. "At the very least, he was grossly negligent by knowing of Isolde's plans and doing nothing to stop her or warn the Grey Wardens. Not only did he not stop her from trying to harm you, Commander, but he also knew of her plans to seed dissention in Gwaren and still did nothing." Loghain snorted once again. "At least we can count on that lickspittle Ceoric's support at the Landsmeet. He fears Cauthrien as much as he fears me. He does not want to bring her close, personal attention to him."

Lhiannon had looked over to Raelyn, who sat curled up next to Anders. The other arcane warrior appeared to be much more herself today, at least in the physical sense. Her physical injuries had all but vanished thanks to the healing skills of Anders and his extensive knowledge of herbal and healing distillations. However, Lhiannon knew that the unseen injures—those that resided in her thoughts and memories—were going to be slower to heal. Once this meeting was over, Lhiannon planned on pulling the mage aside to speak with her; whatever she needed to feel herself again, Lhiannon wanted to provide. There was also one other thing that Lhiannon needed to bring to Raelyn's attention, something that she knew both of them would feel extremely apprehensive about.

It was Lhiannon's intention to have Raelyn to accompany her, Loghain, and Teagan to the Landsmeet to offer testimony regarding her captivity. She knew Raelyn would likely be extremely hesitant and uncomfortable with facing Eamon so soon after her mistreatment at his hands, and rightfully so. Not only that, but when the evidence against Eamon was presented, Lhiannon knew that the cruel bridles would have to be displayed. Bringing that hateful device out in front of Raelyn made Lhiannon feel heartless and cruel, but there was no skirting the issue. The device would have to be displayed and Raelyn would likely have to answer questions about the ordeal that she and Teagan endured. Lhiannon wanted to prepare Raelyn for that as much as she could.

As she pondered her thoughts, Raelyn looked toward Lhiannon as if she were called through the taint. A small frown crossed Raelyn's face and Lhiannon tried to still the taint within herself, putting forward an aura of calm to reassure Raelyn. She gave Raelyn a small smile and was pleased to see the other mage return it.

"We have, unfortunately," Loghain began, leaning back slightly on the desk and crossing his legs at his ankles, "a great deal of circumstantial evidence; I would be remiss if I said I thought we had enough solid evidence to convince the Landsmeet of Eamon's misdeeds."

"Hopefully, they'll see that Eamon is nothing more than a nug humping troublemaker," Sigrun said, looking over toward Teagan and Raelyn once more. "He's nothing but a filthy bastard for what he did to Teagan and Raelyn. Maybe the nobles will see reason."

With a sarcastic snort, Loghain chuckled at Sigrun. "I tend to think that 'nobles' and 'reason' are mutually exclusive concepts in most instances."

"I am worried about the support of those whose lands border Eamon's," Teagan said, scratching at his stubbled chin as he spoke. "For instance, Arl Wulff may be forced to ask Eamon for aid if Denerim cannot get help to him before the planting season. Eamon has also reached out to his other neighbors, promising them help for their support in the Landsmeet. Denerim may as well be in the Anderfels."

Scoffing, Lhiannon shook her head, a slow, wry small crossing her features. "Is it wrong of me to _want_ to fight the darkspawn again? They don't have political agendas. Dealing with them is _easy_ compared to this."

Several snorts and chuckles were heard in the room before the sound of a firm knock on the door drew everyone's attention. Loghain moved to the door and when he opened it, saw a winded Sergeant Joanna on the other side. Her hair was mussed and skin glistened with sweat, the odor of horse still on her from her errand to see the Queen. Loghain ushered her inside before closing the door behind her, bolting it for good measure. Joanna had moved to stand in the center of the small gathering, nodding a greeting to Lhiannon as Loghain returned to his place at his Commander's side.

"I take it you have a return message from my daughter."

"I do, Second Warden," Joanna said in a breathless voice, brushing a lock of hair that had stuck to the skin of her forehead away. "The Queen says she will welcome your presence at midday. She also says that she was made aware of three missing mabari this morning and is anxious to discuss them with you when you arrive."

Lhiannon watched as Loghain slid off the desk and moved to a nearby window, looking outside at the position of the sun. He held a hand up, judging the time by how many hand widths were between the horizon and the sun's position in the sky. He turned back to face the others, his gaze landing on Lhiannon.

"I will have to make my way to the palace within the hour," Loghain said. "Perhaps it is best that I take my leave now."

"Then let us adjourn this meeting for now," Lhiannon said, turning to regard the Wardens, Teagan, and Joanna. "You are all dismissed to your normal duties for the time being. Teagan, I would ask that you remain inside this building. It appears word is spreading about your 'disappearance'."

"Of course," Teagan said, nodding his agreement before running the door's bolt back and exiting into the hallway, the dwarves right on his heels.

As Loghain moved toward the door behind Teagan and the dwarves, Lhiannon called out to him. He turned, looking at his Commander and wife and watched as a small smirk crossed her features.

"You _are_ going to the palace armed and in your full armor, aren't you?"

Loghain returned her smirk. "I may have been born at night, but not last night." With a nod, he exited the office on his mission to the palace. Anders and Raelyn moved toward the door and as they did so, Lhiannon called out softly. "Raelyn, may I speak to you privately?"

A wary look crossed Raelyn's face as she stopped walking but she nodded her acquiescence. Anders paused before he left, brushing Raelyn's cheek with a light kiss. "I'll be waiting for you outside." He pulled the door shut behind him as he left, leaving Raelyn in the room alone with Lhiannon, her eyes moving warily about the room before settling on her commander.

"Raelyn, I wanted to speak to you about the Landsmeet," Lhiannon said, trying to convey a sense of calm to her Warden.

Raelyn tensed visibly and shifted her weight from foot to foot, clearly not comfortable with the direction this discussion was taking. She knew that the Warden Commander would likely want speak to her about the past few days and while a part of Raelyn sought to speak to Lhiannon about it, a greater part of her feared and dreaded it. The pain and humiliation she suffered over the past few days was something Raelyn was not ready to discuss just yet; she had hardly spoken to Anders about it and he was the person she felt closest to other than Teagan. Raelyn sank back onto the cushions of a small settee in the office, a weary sigh escaping her lips. Lhiannon came to sit next to her, turning to face Raelyn with a look of grave concern on her face.

"Raelyn, as much as I hate to ask you this, I must. I need you to accompany Loghain, Teagan, and I to the Landsmeet."

A sick, sinking feeling made Raelyn's stomach feel as if it had become a yawning abyss inside her. She felt a cold sweat break out over her body and she began to shiver involuntarily. Going to the Landsmeet meant facing Eamon again. Eamon: the man who allowed the templars to brutalize her in a dehumanizing way. Eamon: the man who subjected his brother to the same treatment for attempting to stand by Raelyn and insisting that the templars release her from their cruel treatment. While part of her was furious at the man, a greater part of her feared her reaction at being in the same room with him again. Deep down inside, Raelyn was deathly frightened of Eamon now. She felt a lump rise in her throat; she _hated_ feeling weak, hated Eamon and his templar cronies for _making_ her feel weak.

"I understand," Raelyn said, her voice barely above a whisper. She wrung her shaking hands together, feeling the clamminess wash over her skin to join the feeling of revulsion that filled the yawning chasm of her stomach. "I won't lie to you, Commander. What you ask is…difficult…"

Reaching forward, Lhiannon took one of Realyn's hands in her own. "I was tortured by Rendon Howe before the last Landsmeet," she said quietly, her gaze on the floor in front of her. "Though he is dead, I still have nightmares about it from time to time. I cannot say I understand your ordeal completely, but I do have an inkling of understanding at what such men are capable of."

The mages remained quiet for several minutes, each lost in her own thoughts before Lhiannon felt Raelyn's hand begin to quiver in hers. Lhiannon tore her eyes from the floor to look at Raelyn and saw tears streaming down her face. Realyn squeezed her eyes tightly shut, pulling her hand from Lhiannon's to bring both to her face. She sobbed openly, her body shaking with their force. Scooting over on the settee, Lhiannon wrapped her arms around Raelyn, feeling her own tears and pain come to the surface to join her comrade's. Several hot tears fell from the corners of her eyes, dropping off her face to land on the fabric of her simple tunic.

"I have _never_ been so humiliated before," Raelyn sobbed behind her hands. "I've never felt so helpless. They…they put that…that _thing_…on me to _hurt_ me. To _torture_ me. Draining my mana wasn't good enough. They wanted me to _suffer_ because I was a mage… They...they thought I could cast even with my hands and arms bound so tightly I could barely _feel_ them..."

Lhiannon pulled Realyn tighter into her arms, smoothing the other mage's hair as she continued to pour out her anger and grief. She cried along with her Warden, her tears ones of grief, anger, and understanding. Leliana had comforted Lhiannon after her ordeal at Howe's hands, the bard telling her new friend of her own torture in Orlais after Marjolaine's betrayal. It had been hard for Lhiannon to talk about the ordeal, but Leliana never pushed, never tried to pry the information from her. Leliana just stayed with her as they sat in Lhiannon's tent, her steady, quiet presence giving comfort and solace. Lhiannon had been grateful beyond words and hoped she could try to do the same with Raelyn. As she held her fellow arcane warrior, Lhiannon's thoughts drifted to Leliana, wondering briefly how she and Zevran were faring in Orlais. They had not been gone very long but hopefully they had settled themselves into their positions and had started investigating leads.

"They chanted their prayers as they drained me," Raelyn said, her voice taking on a furious edge as she continued to sob. "They told me I was an affront to the Maker, that it was because of _my kind_ that the Maker abandoned His people. It was like they held me personally responsible for the Maker abandoning the world." Raelyn paused, her shudders intensifying as she took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. "They said they wanted to purify me through the flame as Andraste was purified…"

Lhiannon felt her stomach drop. Horrible memories of another mage from what seemed like a lifetime ago came roaring to the surface of her mind. They were memories Lhiannon had tried for years to bury deep inside her. Her father…her brother…a mage who had been executed in her home village… "They wanted to burn you at the stake as Andraste was burned?"

"I think so," Raelyn nodded. "They said they were going to take me west."

"Holy Maker, I think they were going to take you to Greenwood Vale," Lhiannon said, dread crawling through her voice. She quickly told Raelyn of her home and life before her abilities manifested, what the people believed, the constant stream of templars, and the ritual they called "The Releasing."

"Maybe you know some of these templars," Raelyn snorted, taking the small square of cloth Lhiannon had pulled from the nearby tea tray and offered to her, dabbing at her eyes as she spoke. "Maybe you can talk to sense into their bucket covered skulls."

"I doubt that," Lhiannon snickered, gently hugging her Warden. "I'm sure my name is never spoken in polite company." She paused, her eyes going wide as pieces began to fall into place. Elis Burne had come from Greenwood Vale. Marjolaine was directly connected to both Orlais and the former Arlessa of Redcliffe and had also recruited Burne from Greenwood Vale. Eamon knew of Isolde's plans and deeds. Zealots from Greenwood Vale had apparently converted Eamon to their cause. An ominous sense of foreboding dawned within her.

"Does Anders know?"

Raelyn sniffled, clutching the cloth in her hands. "No," she said quietly. "I haven't told him. He hasn't asked either, but I can feel that he wants to."

"We're all here to support you, Raelyn. Whatever you need, I will do my best to provide. You are not alone."

The lump reappeared in Raelyn's throat and hot tears burned her eyes once more; Teagan had refused to let her suffer alone during their captivity and now the Commander was also offering to share her burden. Even in her darkest hours, Raelyn was never alone and with the Wardens, she knew she never would be.

"Thank you, Commander. It brings me a great deal of comfort to know that I can always turn to my fellow Wardens in my time of need."

"The Wardens share a camaraderie and sense of family that is somewhat similar to what we experienced in the Circle," Lhiannon said, pulling a second cloth from the tea tray and dabbing at her own eyes. "I know seeing Eamon will be difficult for you, but your story needs to be told. The Grey Wardens still harbor a great deal of goodwill from the people and I'm hoping that there will be a number of nobles that will not look kindly upon the mistreatment of one."

"I _want_ to see him brought to justice for what he has done," Realyn said, speaking through her clenched teeth in both anger and determination. "No matter how apprehensive I am, Eamon _must_ be brought to task and I will do whatever I can to see it done."

* * *

Low clouds stretched from horizon to horizon, blocking out the full moon that hung in the sky beyond them. Shadows in the narrow alleyways between the dilapidated buildings were even darker than usual, stretching out as if they sought to cover the whole of the slum with their inky blackness. The Alienage stood only a stone's throw away beyond a high wall that separated their even more dilapidated slum from the human slums that surrounded it. Garbage, sewage, and the occasional dead animal littered the streets in the slums, a stark contrast to the opulence the city was fabled for.

A figure waited in the shadows on the flat roof of an ancient row house, her form hidden in the deep blackness next to a crumbling chimney. Leliana drew her cloak more tightly around her dark leathers as a cool breeze drifted in from off the Waking Sea, a wave of nervous excitement causing the butterflies to flutter madly in her stomach. She had been apprehensive at first when Lhiannon tasked her with coming to Val Royeaux, but as she and Zevran drew closer to the city, her apprehension had been replaced with an excitement she had not felt in years. The Grand Game awaited them in Val Royeaux and Leliana was anxious to both immerse herself in it once again and show Zevran how the Orlesians played it. As a Crow, he was well versed in subterfuge and deception, but no one in Thedas took more pride in such strategies than the Orlesians. The Grand Game would test both their skills and Leliana welcomed the challenge.

The trip to Val Royeaux had been uneventful. Leliana and Zevran had boarded a ship in Amaranthine carrying Ferelden made goods bound for Kirkwall. Word had returned in recent months about the fate of Fereldens that had fled north to the City of Chains as the Blight raged through the countryside. While many Fereldens lived only slightly better than the elves in the Alienage, others had become prosperous. Those lucky ones—generally Fereldens with either business or blood ties to the city—had settled into society there and began to demand goods from their native home. Amaranthine was quickly becoming a booming port city again and it was not uncommon for ships going to and from Kirkwall to be found there. Leliana and Zevran found it easy enough to buy passage on a merchant ship to make the two day voyage to Kirkwall. There were ships that could take them directly from Amaranthine to Val Royeaux—trade between Ferelden and Orlais was not completely uncommon—but both thought it best to put at least one city between them and Amaranthine.

Once in Kirkwall, it did not take them long to book passage on another ship headed to Val Royeaux. However, it required that they spend the night in the city as the ship was not scheduled to depart until dawn the following morning. They paid for a room at a small hostel in the docks district of the city, one that asked no questions so long as the coin was in the correct amount. Leliana and Zevran both took turns keeping watch even behind the locked door to their room; several of the deckhands on the ship they had booked passage on warned them of the Kirkwall gangs, marauding bands of thugs that always vied for dominance in the city when darkness fell. Ship captains often had to pay for "protection" from the gangs, lest their ships be boarded by opportunistic thugs looking for quick loot. Thankfully, the heavy rains that had begun shortly after their ship docked kept the worst of the gangs away.

Leliana had felt a twinge of nostalgia and homesickness as she stood on the deck of the ship as it approached Val Royeaux, the skyline of the grand city emerging from the distant haze on the horizon. She stood on the deck watching the city come into view, the spires of the Grand Cathedral and the obelisk marking the University of Orlais reaching into the sky. The light breeze fluttered the fabric of the chantry robes she wore as the ship sailed on toward its destination.

With a heavy heart, Leliana and Zevran said their goodbyes while still on the ship, not wanting to disembark together once the ship docked. As the gangplank lowered onto the docks, Leliana deeply inhaled the scent of her home, stepping off the ship and onto the soil of Orlais for the first time in many months. She walked the grand avenues of the city, her destination easily spotted from all districts. Even now in the nearly complete blackness, the spires of the Grand Cathedral rose against the sky, their glittering rune stones defying the darkness.

"No matter where my travels take me, the Alienages and slums all smell of desperation and shit. They say you can never go home again, but this is almost as close."

Leliana turned toward the sound of the voice, a wide smile crossing her face as the lithe form of her Antivan elf emerged from the darkness.

* * *

_The voyage from Denerim to Val Royeaux by sea takes roughly five days (thanks to Cheeky Monkey mackillian for posting distances and travel times in Thedas on CM!). Amaranthine is, of course, closer to Val Royeaux than Denerim and Kirkwall is roughly half way between Amaranthine and Val Royeaux. I kept with the five day figure as I thought Leliana and Zevran may have to wait overnight in Kirkwall for a ship bound for Val Royeaux; I would think captains would prefer to leave in the daylight (I'm no boating enthusiast though, so, I guess in my world they do!).  
_

_Thanks again to Shakespira for the great idea of having a refresher before the Landsmeet! I really had to go exploring both RA and earlier chapters of Retribution to make sure I had as many plot bunnies rounded up as possible.  
_

_As always, special thanks and appreciation go out to reviewers Shakespira, Gene Dark, Aura of Darkness Night, cloud1004, JackOfBladesX, DarkChubb (did I help in the tension department this week?), Kendoka Girl, Mystricka (you totally made my day!), Arsinoe, Jesse Long, Ventisquear, Tyanilth, and Enaid Aderyn. As Zevran would likely say, you reek of awesomeness!_

_Thanks to all of you who take time out of your day to read my tale; it is greatly appreciated._

_Another picture is up on my deviantArt page...maybe with enough practice, I'll be a decent artist one day. Heres the link if you feel like stopping by (don't forget to take the spaces out): http: /josielange. deviantart. com/#/d4a9izp  
_


	39. Working From the Shadows

_A/N, part 1: I was feeling a little fluffy this week. So, fluff alert! :)_

* * *

"Truly, you are a sight for sore eyes," Leliana said as Zevran sat in the shadows beside her. He reached for her and found her hand within her cloak, bringing it to his lips and gently pressing them to the coolness of her skin. Though Leliana was a skilled bard, Zevran still fretted over her. She was in the heart of the Chantry in Thedas, surrounded by templars who were considered to be the very best among their order. Surely, their skills to observe and find apostates were likely on par with the nose of a mabari for smelling trouble. Zevran hoped that their obsession with illegal mages, unshakable faith in the Maker, and the occasional craving for lyrium would make them blind to the bard in their midst.

"I agree; one such as ridiculously awesome as I is always a balm for sore eyes." Zevran said, his voice low and soft in the shadows of the crumbling chimney, not betraying the concern he felt for Leliana. It was likely a moot point; Leliana was a keen observer of behavior and was not likely fooled. He waved his free hand out in front of them, indicating the Alienage just over the nearby wall as well as attempting to brush away his reservations. "This is a most excellent place to meet. No one with a drop of noble blood will want to be seen in such a neighborhood overflowing with garbage and filth. It is not only unseemly, but it takes forever to get the stench out of one's clothes."

Leliana gave a quiet chuckle, her small sound covered by the snarls and barks of fighting dogs on a neighboring street. "We need not worry about any nosy nobles or their servants here. As much as some of them enjoy carousing through the poorer districts of Val Royeaux, very few come to this particular area of the city. If they want to take advantage of the poor elves in the Alienage, they don't sneak in; they'll go in right through the main gates, unafraid and unashamed.

"It is the hallmark of those who think they are entitled to take advantage of those they see under them. Those of a lower class are there to be abused and taken advantage of if they are not of other use."

Zevran scoffed lightly at Leliana's observation. He had seen it many times before in his employers; those of wealth and power taking advantage of those who had neither, pawns in a game they were doomed to lose before they even realized they were being played. With the flick of a wrist, he let the thought fade away and came to the reason they were sitting in the shadows of an abandoned building in one of the poorest parts of Val Royeaux. "Tell me of your task, my lovely one. What have you seen?"

The sounds of the fighting dogs were joined by the shouts of an angry denizen of the slum, cursing loudly in Orlesian and trying to shoo the dogs away from the dark alley in which they were fighting. Leliana settled deeper into the shadows, lowering her voice so that anyone brought out of their poor hovels at the sounds of the fighting dogs would not hear her.

"My name is Sister Laya and I have just returned from the wilds of southern Ferelden," Leliana said, folding her hands in her lap demurely. Zevran noticed that as she spoke, Leliana's voice became slower and slightly higher in pitch. Even the inflections on her words changed as she seemingly morphed into her role as Sister Laya. It was a spectacular and somewhat unsettling trait that Zevran saw in his bard, watching as she transformed before his eyes into her role.

"I spent a great deal of time in southern Ferelden, hoping to bring the Maker's light to the barbarian Chasind tribes. I missed my Orlais terribly, but knew that this was the Maker's path for me. I had to flee with the refugees from the south when the darkspawn approached. I had little money so booking passage to Orlais was difficult, especially for an Orlesian in Ferelden. I traveled with a group of refugees as they traveled north through the center of their land, ministering to them as best I could. The people had little but the clothes on their backs, but some of them gave me coin and sustenance. I couldn't cross the border into Orlais from Ferelden since the regent had closed off that avenue. I had to take ship north to Kirkwall and return to Orlais from there." She paused for a moment, wrinkling her nose in such a way that it made Zevran grin. "Ferelden smells of wet dog. I am glad to be back in Orlais."

"That tells me who you are but tell me of why you are at the Grand Cathedral, surrounded by such piousness and women in far too much clothing," Zevran said, his voice conveying the grin that had no doubt spread across his face. "It never hurts to keep telling the story, if only to make sure you have it consistent."

Leliana giggled lightly, resting her hand on Zevran's lightly armored leg. "Ah, but I am a researcher of Chantry history, much like Brother Genitivi. I wish to know all I can about the Chantry and the deeper meaning of the Chant so that I can properly bring the unenlightened to the Maker's wondrous light." To Leliana, that reasoning was not far off the truth of her past. When she was in Lothering, it was for quiet contemplation of her life and what the Maker wanted from her after Marjolaine's stinging betrayal. Part of that contemplation involved researching history and the different meanings and interpretations of the Chant of Light. In that regard, her story was not far from the truth.

The sounds of the fighting dogs in the distance began to quiet; either they had settled their canine differences or something more ominous had happened. "Ah, that is well and good," Zevran said, his sharp ears listening for anything out of the ordinary. "Have you been able to learn anything so far?"

"Nothing of great significance. I am focused right now on the comings and goings of the priests and templars, but I have seen some things of note." Leliana began to tick items off on her fingers. "I have been spending time in the Chantry's library researching the history of the Dagger of the Faithful and its significance. It is modeled after the weapon that Archon Hessarian used to give Andraste mercy as she burned at the stake. It is a sign of faith and devotion to the Maker and his Bride, and should never leave the cathedral. That it did leave makes me wonder how. There is also a locked room hidden away at the back of the library."

Were it not so dark, Leliana would have seen Zevran's brow move upward in a sign of curiosity. "Ah, a locked and hidden room? How delightfully tempting. I trust you have examined such a room, yes?"

Leliana felt Zevran's fingertips on her face, no doubt wishing to feel her smile as well as see it in the darkness. She reached up and took his hand, pressing her lips to the skin of his palm. "Of course it is tempting, my dear one. However, there are often templars guarding the door. I will try to infiltrate it, but I do not want to attract unnecessary attention. Curiosity about such things often draws unwanted attention." She grinned once more against the skin of Zevran's hand, eliciting a small groan of want from him. "However, I've broken in to more heavily guarded places than that. I shall simply bide my time."

"Do not take too long," Zevran gently chastised her, brushing his fingertips along the skin of Leliana's face. "I should like to return to our warm bed in Ferelden before I am an old man."

Leliana giggled softly; the thought of Zevran in a bed with her was very tempting. She missed his touch and the delightfully evil things he whispered in her ear as he had his wicked way with her. "I should like that, my dear. However, we must get back to the subject at hand before we distract ourselves further. I have sensed Grey Wardens within the Cathedral from time to time. It has been more than one, as they feel different to me. There are, however, several that appear more often than others. I do not want to venture too close as I do not want to arouse their suspicions too greatly or too soon."

"Do you think they have sensed you?"

Zevran heard Leliana shrug in the darkness, her leathers whispering lightly against her cloak. "I would be shocked if they have not; however, they have not made themselves known to me. I have not identified myself to anyone as a Warden yet. When they do ask, I will simply say I did not arrive at Ostagar in time and that I am ashamed to call myself a Warden because of it."

"What if they ask about your fighting skills? Wardens are known to choose fighters to join their ranks, not humble priests."

"The Chasind are wild folk, living in wilder lands. One does not seek them out unprepared in the ways of war."

Zevran scoffed lightly. "True enough. And what of anyone else? Surely you have seen the Divine about. As a good shepherd, she must tend to her flock on occasion."

Leliana snickered lightly in the darkness. "Oh, she is about. I have not spoken to her as of yet as I have not been formally presented to her." Zevran sensed Leliana's attitude change from her light humor to something more serious. "I have seen the former arlessa of Redcliffe within the cathedral. She was speaking with a man for a moment, but I could not see who. I was with another sister and could not stop to see. I have not seen her again, so I do not think she has sought shelter here. She must have either family or a benefactor sheltering her. I will try to track her the next time she appears."

A small grunt in the darkness caused Leliana to turn and face Zevran. Even in the darkness, Leliana could sense Zevran was troubled, but hardly surprised by the revelation. Truth be told, Leliana had not been terribly surprised to see Isolde at the Grand Cathedral herself. That evening, as soon as she was settled into her small room, she began to pen a coded note to the Warden Commander, keeping it on her person at all times as she continued to gather information.

"You are sending a message to Vigil's Keep, yes?"

"Indeed," Leliana said, patting a small place beneath her breast. Zevran knew well enough that Leliana had a small pocket hidden within her armor and that was likely where she was keeping that note. "It is in code. We need to send it to Vigil's Keep as soon as possible without raising suspicion."

"Sending a letter to the Commander directly is begging to be read, coded or not."

Leliana grinned to herself in the darkness. That was her Zevran, thinking of everything. "That is why I am not sending it to her; I am sending it to Aura."

"Ah," Zevran said, a grin spreading across his delicate face. "That makes sense. She and her late husband Kristoff were from Orlais so it is possible she still has family here. That is far less suspicious than a letter from an Orlesian sister to the Warden Commander of Ferelden."

"Indeed; it was Second Loghain's idea to have any communications addressed to her. Also, I have observed Clotaire Alune milling about the cathedral on several occasions."

"That is the man who is the brother of the Warden Commander of Orlais? He's still with the Empress' court?"

"If his clothing is any indication, yes. He is wearing some of the finest clothing I have seen short of being in the Empress' inner circle of advisers. I have started to seek out my information sources within the city since our arrival, but have not heard from them yet. Perhaps it is time for Sister Laya to minister to those poor souls within the city and seek them out directly."

Zevran rubbed his chin as he thought. "Clotaire needs to be observed more closely, yes?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then I shall take this task upon myself." Zevran chuckled once more, giving Leliana a grand, sweeping flourish with his hand. "I shall endeavor to put my Crow skills to good use."

Leliana nodded, knowing that Zevran would indeed put his skills to use. He was as excited as she was about playing the Grand Game, but using the rules of the Crows to tip the game to his advantage. She had no doubt that Zevran would certainly tip the scales in his favor. "Now, my dear one, tell me of _your_ endeavors in Val Royeaux."

"I have been frequenting some of the seedier establishments you indicated within the city, as you have said the noble men and women tend to frequent them when they wish to rut with the common folk. I have made several discrete inferences that my services as a Crow are available for hire; for an exorbitant fee, of course. One as skillful and as handsome as I does not come cheaply, unlike the drinks that are served in those establishments. One wonders why the Orlesian nobles tolerate such watered down and cheaply made drinks."

"It all part of seeing how the 'little people' live," Leliana said, snorting in sarcasm. If it were not so dark, Zevran would have seen her rolling her eyes; knowing her as well as he did, he could simply tell by the tone of her voice that she had done exactly that. "Have you been approached about acquiring your services as a Crow?"

"As of yet, no. However, I have observed several individuals observing _me_, so I know there is interest in my Crow services. I anticipate being approached soon."

"And then?"

"Then I see what they know about matters in Ferelden. Or matters in Orlais. Surely, any noble worth their salt will want to discover what the other nobles know. That information will, of course, be returned to our lovely Warden."

Zevran and Leliana sat among the shadows for several more moments, listening to the sounds of the night around them. Zevran had pulled Leliana into the circle of his embrace, cooing to her softly in Antivan as his lips brushed the skin near her ear. She straightened in his arms, taking his lips with hers, her teeth gently nibbling on his lower lip as they kissed briefly. With quiet whispers of unrelieved desire, they agreed to meet again in two days' time at another run down boarding house not far where they currently lurked in the shadows.

"Be safe, my dear," Leliana breathed into Zevran's ear, running her tongue along the sensitive skin near the pointed tip. Zevran gave an inarticulate growl, pulling her face to his where he assaulted her lips with a fierce, though all too brief, kiss.

"And you as well, _mia cara_." Leliana gave him one last kiss before moving off along the rooftop, quickly becoming one with the shadows as she called upon her shadow form. Zevran watched for several moments until the shimmer of her shield disappeared off the edge of the row of buildings.

Taking a deep breath, Zevran scampered along the rooftop of the building in the opposite direction, his route back to the small hostel circuitous. The soft leather soles of his boots made hardly a sound as he ran along the rooftops, leaping from top to top with the lithe grace of a cat. As he leaped across a small gap between buildings, his sharp eyes caught movement along the street below him, shadowing him as he traveled along the rooftops. Freezing in place, his sharp ears caught the slight scuffling footsteps of at least two pursuers trying to stay close, yet far enough away where they would not raise his suspicion. Zevran's mind turned rapidly as he stood; either they did not know he was an elf with sharp hearing or they knew and were confident in their ability to trap him. _Braska! Foolish arrogance,_ Zevran thought, briefly considering calling upon his stealthy cloak, but quickly discarding the thought. _Ah well, more interesting people to meet before killing. If it is a fight they want, I suppose I could give them one._

Zevran crouched and quietly moved forward again. When he reached the end of the row of buildings he had been traversing, he looked over the edge and saw a small balcony jutting out of the side of the building just below him. The building housing the small hostel was still several blocks away, a dark shape barely discernible from the shadows around it. He turned and lowered himself off the edge of the roof, hanging for a moment before letting go and softly landing on the balls of his feet with hardly a sound as he flexed his knees to absorb the impact. Pressing himself up against the wall, Zevran listened for several moments, stilling his breathing as he concentrated on the sounds around him. His sharp ears heard the urgent whispers of those following him as they sought to pick up his trail. After several moments the voices fell silent. Zevran peeked around the corner of the building and, seeing no one, climbed off the balcony and dropped to the street below. Though all was silent around him, Zevran's keen senses and instinct told him the silence was nothing more than a false sense of security. Keeping his hands close to the hilts of his daggers, Zevran crept through the dark shadows of the alley toward his hostel, his steps light as he moved on the balls of his feet. As he rounded a corner not far from his destination, a man in dark armor stepped out into the street ahead of him. He had no weapons drawn, which made Zevran slightly apprehensive. That the stranger was apparently unarmed meant that there were likely others nearby that did have weapons drawn and that had no doubt already fixed Zevran firmly in their sights.

"For your claims of being a Crow, you know nothing of subtlety." The man spoke to Zevran in his native Antivan, his words heavily accented in an Orlesian dialect, but still easily understandable.

"How else am I to make my services known if I do not advertise them," Zevran replied in Antivan. "Surely my plan has worked as you are here now asking about me. In Antivan, no less."

The man scoffed derisively and Zevran could just barely see a sneer crossing the man's features in the near total darkness. "I and my organization are always looking for new talent, even if you are just a lowly Crow with a loose tongue. I supposed you can be retrained, so not all hope is lost."

It was now Zevran's turn to scoff derisively. The man did not acknowledge Zevran's scoff, but instead continued speaking. "If you work for us, the first thing you will learn is to still your tongue lest it be cut out. You need not have a tongue to be of use."

"Oh, but my tongue can be used in such delightful and inventive ways. It would be a shame to have it cut out so soon." Zevran paused, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level. "I can give you a demonstration, if you like. I have been told that my tongue is very…adept."

"You have demonstrated quite enough with the flapping of it." The man gave a small nod, never breaking eye contact with Zevran. "Now we will see if you truly are as skilled as you have bragged."

"Oh, but I was looking forward to my hard and uncomfortable bed," Zevran tsked as he shook his head. "One such as I needs adequate rest to perform at his best."

"You misunderstand me. You don't have a choice."

Zevran sighed and shrugged, listening to the telltale shuffle of footsteps approaching him from behind. Had he been human, he likely would not have heard the small sounds. He thanked whatever deity that happened to be listening for his elven ears. "Well, it is rather late in the evening for a bloodletting, but if you insist..."

Turning swiftly on the balls of his feet, Zevran pulled a small throwing dagger from a hidden pocket in his leathers and threw it, the blackened metal burying itself to the hilt in the neck of a human trying to sneak up on him from behind. He fell with a nearly silent gurgle and lay thrashing on the ground, clawing feebly at the dagger as his life blood puddled on the ground beneath him. A second human sprang silently forward, a long dagger in each hand held at the ready. As he closed the distance, the man began swinging the daggers in wide arcs, seeking to overpower the smaller Zevran with his blades. Zevran deftly parried each blow, watching the man for any opening in which to press an advantage. When it became clear that the human was not tiring, Zevran quickly ducked low, dragging his daggers across the inside of his opponent's knees and severing the ligaments in both. His opponent dropped his knives and clasped at his knees as he collapsed to the ground, blood seeping through his fingers and his mouth hanging open in stunned surprise. Zevran barely had time to roll out of the way and avoid being trapped under the human's falling body. As he finished his roll, Zevran quickly sprang toward the human once more, running his blade across the man's neck before he could gather his wits and scream aloud in his pain. Seeing no others approach, Zevran turned on the balls of his feet, still crouched in attack position and holding both daggers at the ready as he glared at the mysterious man. The leader looked on with calm curiosity as Zevran crouched near his fallen attackers. After observing the unharmed Zevran, the man held up his hand in a silent signal. Zevran saw movement from the shadows around him as two other figures moved forward, bows with nocked arrows pointed downward but ready to be quickly brought to bear if necessary. He snarled his displeasure, realizing that the man had knowingly sent two unlucky souls to their doom. "Moving the pawns first?"

"The pawns always go first, the weak culled by the strong," the man explained, coming to Zevran's side and offering a hand. Zevran looked to the man's hand, considering. Clearly, this man had received word of Zevran and knew he was a Crow. He had tested Zevran's skills and was apparently satisfied with what he saw. Since he and Leliana were in Orlais to discover all they could about the conspiracy surrounding the Warden Commander, this could be a step in the right direction—not that Zevran would trust this man and his allies in the slightest. If he could use them to gather information, Zevran would not pass up such an opportunity.

Sheathing his daggers, Zevran took the man's hand and allowed him to pull him to his feet. The man called out to his companions, ordering them to remove the bodies of the two dead men in the street. He turned to Zevran, nodding his head once in official greeting.

"My name is Henri. I welcome you to the Shadows."

* * *

Loghain arrived at the palace for his meeting with Anora, the cloak covering his dark Warden issued armor emblazoned with the crest of Amaranthine. The great bear looked even larger splayed across Loghain's large frame, leaving little doubt to anyone that watched him approach just what interests he was currently representing.

Upon entering the palace, he was ushered into the private apartments of the King and Queen, where two nursery maids were scurrying away from the innermost chambers, the harried voice of the Queen filling the hall behind them. Loghain watched them scuttle away, an expression of amusement crossing his features. Entering the room, Loghain saw Anora walking the floor with a very unhappy Nerys squalling in her arms. Anora, normally a picture of calm confidence even in a sea of uncertainty, looked haggard and upset. She quickly paced the room, bouncing the baby in her arms in an effort to comfort her. Loghain met Anora's eyes, an expression of concern and amusement crossing his features.

Anora snorted indignantly. "Those damned servants can't keep Nerys calm. I can't stand listening to them trying to calm her. Nerys won't stop crying. Alistair is too damned busy with the damned Landsmeet, so he can't help. I can't get any of my own duties completed because the damned servants can't do their duty and the baby won't stop crying!"

Loghain snorted, pulling his gauntlets off and placing them on a nearby table. He began to uncover and unfasten the straps holding his back and chest plate in place. After all, no baby wants to be swaddled against the cool, hard metal of her grandfather's armor. Anora's eyes went wide at her father pulling off his armor. "No, Father, you need not take your armor off..."

With a wave of a hand and a snort, Loghain quickly removed his upper armor with the practice of a skilled warrior, gently setting the pieces aside and pulling off the thick undershirt, tossing it atop the pieces. "Nonsense, Anora. I should have considered coming to the palace in something other than my armor. After all, how can I resist holding and fussing over my little warrior?" He moved to his daughter's side, taking the squalling Nerys from her mother and tucking her into the crook of a large arm. With his free hand, Loghain began to stroke the skin of Nerys' face and head with a calloused thumb, murmuring to her softly as he slowly moved toward the window, hoping the change of touch and scenery would distract Nerys from her crying. He rocked her gently in his arm as he held her at the window, speaking to her of the trees outside, the blue of the sky, and the majestic form of Dragon's Peak rising in the distance. After a few minutes, Nerys began to calm, her cries drifting off as the light from the window and Loghain's large yet gentle touch diverted the baby's attention.

Turning his head, Loghain saw Anora sit heavily in an overstuffed chair, her breath coming out in a large sigh as a weary grin crossed her face, no doubt finding the look of her large and taciturn father cradling a small infant amusing.

"You're a miracle worker, Father."

"I'm no such thing, Anora. I _do _have experience with fussing babies. On more than one occasion I was called away from my duties in Gwaren to tend to a fussing baby when her mother was feeling overwhelmed." Loghain gave Anora a grin and a wink. "I'd be happy to share my knowledge."

The Queen watched her father rock Nerys for several moments, savoring the brief respite. Her father's face has softened as he and Nerys studied one another, a sense of wonder filling the space between them. Anora watched as Nerys' eyes began to grow heavy as Loghain rocked her, fluttering closed before opening wide again. After several moments, Nerys gave up the fight.

"Father, you mentioned three missing mabari in your note this morning. Who was it that was missing?"

Keeping his voice low as not to disturb the baby unnecessarily, Loghain told Anora the tale of Sigrun's arrival in Denerim and the news she bore that Eamon and his templar allies had taken Teagan and Raelyn hostage, integrating his men into the ranks of his own. He spoke of the rescue the evening before near the Alienage and how they had staged it to look like the attack of a street gang or bandits. Loghain watched as Anora turned the story over in her mind, nodding her understanding. "How did you find out about three missing people?"

"Alistair and I were paid a visit by Grand Cleric Tailtha herself today, accompanied by several templars that I had never met before," Anora said, moving to Loghain's side so that she could peer into Nerys' face. The baby was sleeping lightly; Anora thought it best to have Loghain continue to hold her for the time being so that she could fall more deeply asleep before moving her to her bassinet. "She introduced the templar to me as Knight Commander Deiniol; he and his company of templars had been moving dangerous maleficars and their collaborators to the Grand Cathedral for safe keeping when they were set upon by street thugs. They seem to believe it could be a sect of the Mages Collective seeking to free any mages in templar custody."

"The Mages Collective? I thought they were all but eradicated by Knight Commander Tavish," Loghain said, his brows furrowing. "It was my understanding that Tavish called his own version of an Exalted March against them as soon as Urthemiel was destroyed."

"That is what I asked them," Anora said, her hand brushing Nerys' head as Loghain held her. "The Knight Commander and Grand Cleric exchanged a quick glance before saying there must still be elements of the Collective operating within Denerim. They wanted to warn us of the threat, thinking that the Collective could be seeking to cause trouble during the Landsmeet. They also asked if we could spare any men to hunt for the remaining Collective elements in the city."

"And did you give them any men?"

Anora scoffed lightly. "Actually, Alistair declined, saying that with the Landsmeet starting, security around the palace was of the utmost importance now. He did say that if he could spare some men after all the duty shifts were compiled, he would send them to the cathedral. They were not happy to hear it."

"Keep a watch on them. I am sure they will be watching the palace and I would also not be surprised if they are watching the Grey Warden compound as well." Loghain felt Nerys growing heavier in his arms as she began to fall deeper into sleep, a small sigh escaping the infant's lips. He lowered his voice as he spoke to Anora so as not to disturb the baby. "We need to get Teagan and Raelyn to the palace for the Landsmeet unseen and without attracting attention from Eamon or the templars."

"I could send carriages to bring you to the palace for dinner this evening," Anora said, a long, slender finger tapping her lips as she thought. "After dark, of course. Once the carriages enter the walls of the Warden compound, they could easily slip inside."

Loghain pursed his lips as he mulled over Anora's idea. It could work, but fully covered carriages would certainly interest the watchers that Eamon and the templars would no doubt have spread through the capital. But perhaps there was a way.

"Send open carriages instead, Anora. Include fur blankets inside to ward against the chill of the night air."

Nodding her understanding, Anora gave her father a knowing grin. "I would not want you or Lhiannon to catch a chill on your journey from the compound to the palace. I do not want to see you bring it to the palace and sicken Nerys."

Loghain nodded, his brow quirked upward. "Indeed, we would not want to catch a chill and bring it here." He looked down to Nerys, who was now fully asleep in his arms. He moved toward the bassinet that stood nearby, pressing his lips to the soft skin of Nerys' forehead before settling her onto the soft mattress. He felt Anora's gaze on him as he tucked the small blanket around his granddaughter's sleeping form. An almost aching sense of love filled him at the sight of the sleeping princess. "Your grandfather loves you, little warrior."

* * *

As Anora promised, a grand, open carriage arrived at the Grey Warden compound on the eve of the Landsmeet. The carriage was as grand as befitted one belonging to the King and Queen, richly carved wood and highly polished metal drawn by four grand stallions. The driver was an older man who was immediately recognized by Loghain as one that had been a driver to first Maric and Rowan when they took their rightful places as King and Queen, and then later Cailan as he followed his parents. As he pulled up to the doors of the Warden Compound, the driver climbed down off his seat and pulled the carriage door open before pointedly tending to the horses. Teagan and Raelyn emerged from the main door of the compound, the shimmer of a haste spell surrounding their bodies. They ducked low as the door moved, putting the carriage between them and the open gates of the compound as they quickly scampered to the carriage and inside, covering themselves with the thick blankets of furs that the Queen had generously provided to ensure that Lhiannon and Loghain were not chilled during their ride to the palace. The Arl and Arlessa of Amaranthine emerged seconds later in fine clothing, followed by Sergeant Joanna, Anders, and two servants carrying a trunk of provisions that they attached to a ledge at the back of the carriage. Loghain held the door of the carriage open, offering his hand to his bride as she stepped inside and sat on the padded seat. Lhiannon propped her feet on the cushions of the seat opposite her and pulled a thick fur blanket over her legs. Loghain joined her moments later, settling himself onto the cushions next to his wife, likewise resting his feet on the seat opposite them and pulling the other half of the blanket over his outstretched legs. He felt a body brush the underside of his legs as it moved under the cover of the blankets into a more comfortable position.

"Sergeant Joanna," Lhiannon called out as the driver ensured the door to the carriage was securely closed, "you are in charge of Amaranthine's men while we are at the Landsmeet tomorrow. Send word to the palace if you need anything."

"Yes, Commander."

Lhiannon's gaze then fell to Anders, giving him a wink and a smile. "Anders, you are in charge of Warden affairs here. Same thing for you; send word to the palace if you need anything. I want you and Joanna to start preparing provisions and such for our trip to the Brecilian Forest. We need to leave as soon as the Landsmeet is concluded."

"You got it, Commander."

"We shall return tomorrow at the end of the Landsmeet's activities," Loghain said, scoffing as he finished his thought. "That is, of course, _if_ the Landsmeet is concluded tomorrow. I doubt things will go so smoothly though."

The driver climbed back into his seat and turned to face Lhiannon and Loghain as they sat in the carriage. With a nod from the Arl of Amaranthine, the carriage began to move through the Warden Compound toward the streets of Denerim on the short journey to the palace.

The Landsmeet awaited.

* * *

_See? Fluffy goodness. :) I don't think Loghain is fluffy about much, but a tiny granddaughter is going to bring out his fluffy side.  
_

_The Landsmeet is on deck...holy cow it's taken a long, long, LONG time to get here! I blame the muse; when she gets going off on tangents, it's impossible to stop her._

_Gracious thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Gene Dark, Shakespira, Enaid Aderyn, JackOfBladesX, cloud1004, Dante Alighieri, Jessie Long, icey cold (for absolutely flooding my inbox, but you're more than welcome to do so!), Arsinoe, Kendoka Girl, Ventisquear, Dark Chubb, and Tyanilth. Kendoka Girl gets a chocolate chip cookie for being review number 400! **Never** in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would get that many, so **thank you** to all of you who have taken the time to review. I know your time is precious and short; that you not only give me some of it for my story and then take the time to review makes me grateful beyond measure. So, thank you again! Shots of Antivan brandy for everyone!_

_Or, maybe not. You know what happens when Lhi breaks out the Antivan. Right, Shakes? :)_

_Thanks to all you quiet readers as well.  
_


	40. Our Blades Are Yours

_**NOTE: this chapter has had some editing with the release of chapter 42. **_

* * *

The carriage traveled along the main avenue in the palace district of Denerim, the lamps along the avenue flickering in the gentle breeze. The dark form of the palace was broken by the occasional firelight reflecting against the windows from inside. The shapes of soldiers could be seen walking the ramparts, keeping vigilant watch over the palace. The neighboring inns and taverns were buzzing with activity, filled to capacity by Ferelden nobility and their entourages. The city guard would be busy in the coming nights, breaking up ale fueled fights and dragging drunken revelers out of the streets from where they fell.

Loghain found it difficult to keep his hands to himself on the brief carriage ride to the palace. Lhiannon was snuggled up against him under the fur blankets that Anora had so generously provided to ward off the chill of the night air—or so the story went. The warmth of her body was radiating through the clothes she wore, warming Loghain's skin where she touched him. Her head rested against him, her contentment plainly discernable. Were it not for the knowledge of Teagan and Raelyn hiding just below his outstretched legs, Loghain would have likely taken advantage of the situation, letting his hand roam the soft planes of her body until it left her breathless. He enjoyed teasing Lhiannon in such a way, knowing that his touch was awakening her but that she could do nothing about it in the given situation. Patience, Loghain knew, was one of the few virtues people would say he had. He settled instead for resting his large hand on her leg. Lhiannon's hand found his soon after, her soft skin settling on the back of his hand. Loghain turned his hand over, twisting his fingers within her own before bringing it out from beneath the fur blanket and pressing his lips to her skin. He watched as her eyes sparkled with humor and felt the taint between them turn to something both mischievous and wanting.

"Don't think I do not know what you are doing, Loghain Mac Tir." Her voice was low and husky and Loghain felt the heat of lust building between them. He raised a brow in amusement.

"And what, Lhiannon Mac Tir, is it you think I'm doing?"

"I can see it in your eyes," she said, turning slightly and pressing herself even closer to him, "you _desire_ me and want to tease me with it." Loghain opened his mouth to retort when Lhiannon jerked beside him, her eyes and mouth opening wide in surprise.

"What happened," Loghain asked, his voice a low growl. His attention was split between Lhiannon and the outside of the carriage for a split second before he heard Lhiannon scoff from beside him.

"I was pinched. _Hard."_

"_Stop that_," a low, muffled, feminine voice hissed from beneath their legs and the blankets that covered them. "Grey Warden here. I can _feel_ you two and it's entirely too much information!"

* * *

The palace guard shut the imposing gates surrounding the compound once the carriage passed through. Looking around, Lhiannon saw a buzz of activity, even at this late hour. Horses were being moved toward the stables and numerous carts were lined up along the nearby walls. Groundskeepers cleaned up behind the horses as household servants moved back and forth within the compound, baskets covered with cloths in their arms.

Lhiannon leaned over toward Loghain as the carriage moved past the main doors on the way to the rear of the building. "Last minute preparations for the Landsmeet?"

"Must be."

The carriage rounded a corner of the palace, pulling to a stop at a door closest to where the stables lay. The driver got down from the seat, nodding knowingly at Loghain before pointedly turning toward the lead horses, murmuring to them as he pulled small root vegetables from his pocket and began to feed them. Once he was out of direct eyesight, Lhiannon and Loghain tossed the blankets off their legs, moving out of the carriage. As Loghain held the carriage door open, Lhiannon moved toward the palace door and opened it, peering inside before motioning toward the carriage. Teagan and Raelyn scrambled out, quickly moving past Loghain and Lhiannon into the darkness and safety of the palace. As Lhiannon made sure Teagan and Raelyn were sufficiently out of sight, Loghain called out to the carriage driver, wishing him a good night before moving into the palace himself. He pulled the door shut behind him and strode to Lhiannon's side.

"Come," he beckoned, threading Lhiannon's arm within his own and brushing past Teagan and Raelyn, "you will be staying in my former apartments within the palace."

"With you and the Warden Commander?" Teagan said, his voice low as they moved through the dimly lit servants' area of the palace. "We do not wish to disturb you."

Loghain waved off Teagan's protest and steered them toward the narrow set of servants' stairs leading to the upper floors. He felt a twinge of longing when he thought of the last time he stole up these steps with Lhiannon on his arm. It was after the fall of the archdemon, the evening of the grand ball following Anora and Alistair's wedding and coronation. Their affair had been new and still just between the two of them—until Anora confronted them the next morning. They climbed the narrow stairs, coming to the door to Loghain's former chambers as they reached the top. Unlocking the door, Loghain ushered them inside. "Lhiannon and I must go meet the King and Queen for dinner. We will ask the servants to have a late dinner sent to the apartments here as well; they know we are Grey Wardens with voracious appetites and won't question the second meal for us. The outer rooms of the apartments should be adequate for your needs."

"Are you making plans for the Landsmeet?" Raelyn said, settling on a large settee and stretching her limbs. Though the carriage ride from the Warden compound was short, she still felt stiff from being curled up in the small space.

"Anora has forbidden it; she wants dinner to be a 'family affair' tonight." Loghain paused briefly, his brows furrowing. "Make yourselves comfortable and rest as much as you can this night; I suspect tomorrow—and perhaps the next few days—will be difficult indeed."

* * *

The low rumble of thunder woke Lhiannon from her fretful sleep. The Landsmeet weighed heavily on her mind, keeping her awake long after Loghain's breathing evened out and deepened in sleep. Lhiannon envied him the ability to fall asleep as quickly as he did and seemingly without trouble. It was habit, he had explained to her; habit from his days fighting Orlesian occupation when one grabbed sleep whenever and wherever one could. After a few fruitless moments of trying to still her mind she opened her eyes, looking toward the window of their bedchamber. Between flashes of lightning, it still appeared to be fully dark outside. Loghain stood before the window gazing outside, his naked body silhouetted by the flashes of lightning from the gathering storm.

"Fitting that the Landsmeet is greeted with thunder," Loghain said, continuing to gaze out the window and watching as the storm approached. He had sensed Lhiannon stirring several minutes ago, the familiar sensation of her coming up from the depths of sleep telling him it was a matter of time before she had fully awakened. The light rustle of fabric told Loghain that Lhiannon had slid out of bed and he heard her light footsteps as she moved across the floor toward him. She wrapped her arms around him, her hands splayed across the bare skin of his chest and her naked breasts pressing into his back. He placed his large, calloused hands over hers, closing his eyes in contentment as he felt her lips brush a scar on his skin.

"Somehow, I think this thunder will be the least of it," Lhiannon said, sighing wistfully before brushing the skin of Loghain's back with her lips again. Thunder rumbled once more, the sound reverberating through the stone walls of the castle. Fat raindrops began to pelt the window, their sound adding to the rumble of thunder outside.

Loghain pulled Lhiannon from behind him, tilting her chin upward with a gentle hand before placing a light kiss on her lips. He pulled away, looking into her dark eyes as lightning flashed again. "We have both potent allies and powerful enemies. My family—_our _family—will need to stay united. There are those that would seek our favor and yet others that will wish to undermine it. You and I have done much in recent memory to preserve and protect our nation. _That_ is what we will have to remind them of."

"I know that, my heart," Lhiannon said, a soft sigh escaping her lips as Loghain's thumb brushed her skin. "I know there are those that will seek to use your actions during the Blight against you yet again. You've done much to make amends and I had hoped to convince them all of such at the coronation." As she spoke, Loghain saw a profound sadness enter her gaze. "You are as much a Hero of Ferelden as I am; I could not accomplish what I did without you. I fear that the narrow minded words of some will hold more weight than any of our actions ever could."

A wistful grin crossed Loghain's face. "I have always held that the Maker has a strange sense of humor. He also tests us in ways we could never imagine. I do not believe that He would give you or me the ability to turn back the Blight only to see us punished in perpetuity for it."

Lhiannon scoffed lightly, a small grin pulling on the corners of her mouth. "I _do_ believe in the Maker, just not necessarily in the Chantry's version of Him. I have seen the Chant twisted to suit whatever argument is in play at any given time. If He truly did not approve of my defeat of Urthemiel, my appointments as Hero of Ferelden, Warden Commander and Arlessa, or my marriage to you, He likely would have struck me down by now."

Lightning flashed in the window, closely followed by the loud rumble of thunder, the intensity of the storm increasing as it drew closer to Denerim. Loghain scoffed lightly, his brows lifting in humor. "He still could."

"Oh, that's reassuring."

Loghain lowered his lips to Lhiannon's once more, his tongue running along her lips as she pressed herself closer to him, the heat and increasingly damp folds of her sex rubbing up against his stiffening length. His lips still pressed to hers, Loghain guided her back to the bed, making love to her as the thunder rolled and lightning flashed, the raging storm outside no match for their unbridled passion.

* * *

The Arl and Arlessa of Amaranthine walked side by side through the halls of the royal palace, both dressed in their resplendent Grey Warden armor. Lhiannon's armor bore the double griffon of her station as Warden Commander, a smaller herald of Amaranthine emblazoned on her pauldrons. Loghain's armor bore a single griffon, his pauldrons likewise decorated with the great bear of Amaranthine. Spellweaver lay nestled in a scabbard strapped to Lhiannon's waist. Loghain's sword—the one he used to destroy the Mother in the depths of her lair—rested in the scabbard on Loghain's back. Loghain had decided to leave his shield in their apartments; Lhiannon thought he looked strangely…_naked_…without it. The thought of bringing weapons to the Landsmeet was still strange and sounded like an entirely bad idea to Lhiannon, but Loghain assured her that it was tradition.

Lhiannon turned her lips toward Loghain's ear. "You do remember how the last Landsmeet ended? There were weapons at that one as well."

"How am I to forget," Loghain said, his voice a low rumble. Lhiannon watched a corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk. "In hindsight, it could not have ended better."

The rumble of voices footsteps grew as Lhiannon and Loghain neared the Landsmeet chamber. Sounds of boisterous greetings, clinking armor, and the King's own voice reached their rears as they rounded a corner and came into view of the Landsmeet chamber. Standing in the doorway of the chamber stood Alistair, dressed in his gleaming golden armor with the Theirin crest emblazoned on the front. He was flanked by a number of his palace guardsmen who were busy taking weapons from the nobility and their attendants as they entered the Landsmeet chamber. Lhiannon and Loghain exchanged a look as they approached, seeing the palace guardsmen carefully cataloguing weapons and placing them in chests just outside the doors.

Within the chamber itself stood Grand Cleric Talitha, flanked by several heavily armored templars. Lhiannon recognized the armor of one of them as the templar commander that had been holding Teagan and Raelyn captive. A second one without his customary helmet was familiar to her, but she could not place his face. Before she could ask Loghain, he was already leaning over to her, speaking low into her ear.

"That templar standing on the Grand Cleric's left is Knight Commander Tavish."

Frowning in recognition, Lhiannon turned her lips toward Loghain's ear. "He's the templar that the Mages Collective was so concerned about."

"They should have been, since he declared his own private exalted march on them."

Lhiannon and Loghain approached Alistair and his guard, where she saw the Grand Cleric and her templar escorts watching her with cold disparagement. A cold prickle ran up Lhiannon's spine and a pit threatened to form in her stomach. Showing her apprehension was the last thing she wanted to do; Lhiannon did not want to give them the satisfaction of knowing she was nervous. Looking at the King, Lhiannon put a warm smile on her face and bowed her head to her sovereign in greeting.

"Welcome to the Landsmeet, Loghain and Lhiannon Mac Tir, Commanders of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Arl and Arlessa of Amaranthine," Alistair said in formal greeting, reaching forward to clasp Loghain's hand in a firm shake before turning to Lhiannon and grasping her hand, pulling off her gauntlet and kissing the back of her hand. "Before you enter the chamber, I am asking all attendees to leave behind their weapons. We shall have no fighting here this day."

Loghain snorted from where he stood before the King. "Do you really think disarming everyone will prevent altercations?"

"It may not prevent them," Alistair said, shrugging sheepishly and grinning at his father-in-law, "but it _will_ keep the blood from staining the floor. It takes forever to get blood off the tiles. I want this Landsmeet to be _productive_, not physically combative." Alistair paused, raising his brows and flicking his gaze between Lhiannon and Loghain. "Anyone who does not wish to disarm will not be welcome here, no matter who they are."

Turning to Loghain, Lhiannon quickly studied his reaction. Loghain's face was hard, his brows lowered as he glowered at the King and what he perceived was impertinence. She shrugged, the plates of her armor clicking lightly as she moved her hands to her scabbard and began to unfasten it from her side. "It would be difficult to be heard from outside the chamber."

With a derisive scoff and a shake of his head, Loghain reached behind him and pulled his sword off his back, thrusting it at the palace guard standing nearby. "I expect to have this returned to me both promptly and in the exact same condition in which I give it to you. Expect a thrashing from me personally if you do not." The guard blanched slightly as he took Loghain's sword, stopping as Loghain grasped his wrist. The taciturn Arl motioned toward the arlessa and where she held out Spellweaver's scabbard. "That goes double for her sword. It was a gift from me to her and it holds _great_ significance to us both."

"Y-yes, M-my Lord," the guard stammered, moving aside to catalogue and store their swords. Alistair snorted quietly as he watched the guard move off. Turning his attention back to Lhiannon and Loghain, Alistair moved aside to allow them to enter the Landsmeet chamber. Before they could pass through the doorway, the templars motioned to the Grand Cleric, charging up to the doorway and blocking it with their armored frames. A templar with a full helmet glared at Lhiannon, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

"You take her weapon, Your Majesty, but you forget that she _herself_ is a weapon! With a single wave of her hand, she could fill this hall with her sorcery."

Lhiannon heard Loghain scoff angrily and open his mouth to retort at the same time she was preparing one of her own. Before either could speak, Alistair held up is hands for calm, looking first toward the Mac Tirs before turning to the Grand Cleric.

"Your Grace, I can assure you that the Warden Commander will not use any sort of magic in this chamber. I will vouch for her cooperation in this matter."

"That is not sufficient," the templar growled from behind his helmet. Lhiannon looked into the slit over his eyes, seeing them narrowed within the darkness of his helmet. _This is definitely the one we fought to free Teagan and Raelyn. _"This…_creature_…"

Grand Cleric Talitha turned to the templar beside her. "Peace, Deiniol." Returning her stern gaze to Alistair she continued. "Knight Commander Deiniol has a point. Your reassurances are just words, and words have a way of being unheeded."

"Just _what_ are you implying?" Lhiannon said, her voice low and icy as her gaze flicked between the Grand Cleric and her guards. Her nervousness at the sight of these individuals was quickly being replaced with anger.

Loghain's anger was a rising tide through the taint, threatening to break over them all. "Yes, just what _are_ you saying? Speak plainly."

"Your Grace," Alistair said, his voice calm yet confident, "what is it you would have me do? Forbid her presence from the Landsmeet? As Warden Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine, she is not only entitled to attend but is _required _to attend. As Warden Commander following a Blight, she will need to update the Crown and the nobility of her efforts to make sure the darkspawn are defeated and plans in place for healing the Blighted lands."

Deiniol snarled from within his helmet, the Grand Cleric and Templar Tavish making no move to interrupt him. He pointed an accusatory finger at Lhiannon. "Then bind her wrists, drain her mana, and have her flanked by templars. It is not foolproof however."

Lhiannon's stomach dropped and bile rose in her throat, competing with the anger that threatened to explode from her. She clenched her fists, the leather of her gauntlets squeaking in protest. All she could think of was just _how_ this templar wanted to ensure she would not be able to cast spells. The memory of Teagan and Raelyn bound rose in her mind, revulsion now beginning to join the anger within her. Before she could speak, Loghain took a step forward, moving himself between his wife and the presumptuous Templar.

"_That is preposterous_," Loghain snarled, his voice low yet conveying great anger toward the templar's suggestion. He, too, could only think of this templar's treatment of another mage. "You forget both her station and mine. If you think either she or I would agree to or condone such madness…"

Alistair stepped forward, holding his hands out to appeal for calm. He could feel the taint seething and roiling between Lhiannon and Loghain, both barely holding their anger and… revulsion?... in check. Several nearby nobles had stopped their conversations and were listening to the confrontation with keen interest, no doubt seeking to gossip about such matters as soon as they could. Alistair turned toward the templar, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"Another…_suggestion_…such as that out of you, ser templar, and I will see you removed from this hall. I _will not_ condone such treatment of _anyone_ in my hall. If you think appealing to my templar training permits you to make such suggestions…"

"Your Majesty? May I?"

Alistair turned to look at Lhiannon, who had stepped forward from behind Loghain, standing at his side. Clearly, the situation was deteriorating rapidly and the official Landsmeet had not even begun. Lhiannon had the sinking feeling that she was the number one target of the Chantry at this Landsmeet. Their primary focus would not be appealing for permission to build new chantries nor aid for the people affected by the Blight. It was becoming clear that _she_ was their primary focus. _Paranoid? Perhaps, but my gut tells me that it's the truth. There must be a way to work together. Someone has to take the first step…_

"The purpose of the Landsmeet is to not only hear petitions from the nobility, confer lands and titles, and dispense justice, but to foster cooperation and dialogue between those who lead Ferelden." Lhiannon looked to the Grand Cleric, hoping the look she was conveying was both neutral and sincere despite the revulsion roiling within her. "The Chantry holds a great deal of influence among many; do you want to be seen as unbending and intolerant?"

The Grand Cleric opened her mouth to speak, but Lhiannon held up her hand as she implored silence to finish her thought. She turned her gaze between Alistair and Loghain. "The nobility is also influential and not just for the protection, laws of the land and justice we dispense to our people. We must also remember that only through cooperation can we move forward. The Grey Wardens also know this, for we seek and need the cooperation of many to ensure that our task of protecting the people and land from the darkspawn and Blights is successful.

"It is in this spirit of cooperation that I will willingly submit to having my mana drained, provided it is the King himself that does it." She looked pointedly at the templar Deiniol. "I will _not_ have my hands bound and for you to suggest such is offensive to not only me, but to my husband and these proceedings."

Loghain turned to glare at Lhiannon, his icy eyes bright with both anger and concern for her words. Lhiannon placed her armored hand on Loghain's arm, seeking to offer him silent comfort through their shared taint. "Let it not be said that the Warden Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine was so stubborn as to not see an opportunity for cooperation." _No matter her personal feelings._

"Why must _you_ always be the one to compromise?" Loghain hissed, low enough so that only Lhiannon and Alistair heard. "You know of their version of 'compromise', Lhiannon."

A look of concern crossed Alistair's pleasant, if worried, face. "Are you sure about this, Lhi? Loghain does have a point; compromise is a two-way street. Is there something you wish for them to compromise on?"

"I do," Lhiannon nodded, turning to meet the stern gazes of the Grand Cleric and templars. "I wish for the templars to wait outside during the Landsmeet. I will not have them lording over me and shadowing my every move. I will not have them distract me from representing the Grey Wardens and the Arling of Amaranthine."

"That is not acceptable," Deiniol spat, looking with contempt at Lhiannon. "The Grand Cleric…"

"No, Deiniol. I will allow it," the Grand Cleric said reluctantly, "provided the King drains the Warden Commander's mana as I witness it."

It was a compromise that Alistair saw skewed in the Chantry's direction, but at least it was a compromise. _Take the small victories where you can, Al. This Landsmeet won't be easy._ "I agree, Your Grace."

Alistair turned toward Lhiannon and Loghain, seeing the stoic look on her face. Underneath that look the taint roared with both anger and apprehension. "Let us move to a more private area, Commander." Alistair turned to his guards that stood nearby, motioning them forward. "Escort the templars outside the Landsmeet hall. I shall let you know when they may reenter."

Once the templars grudgingly exited the chamber, Alistair led Lhiannon, Loghain, and the Grand Cleric through the Landsmeet chamber, headed for a small sitting room at the back of the room. Heads turned in curiosity as the small group walked through the hall, brows raised and low murmurs of questioning filling the air. Loghain walked beside Lhiannon, feeling her apprehension grow as the room drew closer.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, her voice betraying the anxiety Loghain felt crawling through the taint between them. "I know Alistair will be careful, but please don't leave me, Loghain. Having mana drained in such a manner is…uncomfortable and frightening."

"Never," Loghain said, his gruff voice barely above a whisper as they saw the King escort the Grand Cleric into the sitting room. "The Grand Cleric can take that demand and choke on it."

Once Lhiannon and Loghain entered the small sitting room, Alistair closed the door and bolted it behind them. He removed his golden gauntlets and set them on a nearby table, sighing heavily as he did so. Looking to Lhiannon, Alistair gave her what he hoped what a reassuring smile. She was not fooled; Alistair could feel her apprehension through the taint. As unpleasant as this was for him, Alistair knew it was doubly so for her and Loghain.

"Loghain, go stand behind Lhiannon and wrap your arms around her."

"Why," Loghain asked, his voice a deep, growling demand within the room. He turned his gaze toward the Grand Cleric and glared at her stern face. She returned his icy scowl with her own stern glare, seemingly unfazed by the taciturn Arl.

"Because I'm probably going to pass out," Lhiannon said, sighing heavily. She could feel her stomach turning as Loghain wrapped his massive arms around her. She looked up at Alistair, who had moved to stand in front of her, and tried to give him a reassuring grin. "I'd stand back, if I were you. I wouldn't want you to go into the Landsmeet with my drool all over you."

"Ah, what's a little drool between family?" Alistair gently cupped her cheeks with his hands and leaned in, pressing a light kiss to Lhiannon's left cheek—the one in view of the Grand Cleric—before leaning over to kiss the other one. He quickly spoke to her in a barely audible voice.

"I'll leave some."

Lhiannon closed her eyes and waited. As Alistair whispered the words of incantation, Lhiannon felt the room suddenly lurch around her, her head spinning violently and her stomach quickly matching its pace. It felt as if her consciousness were being ripped from her body, forced through her nerves to be pulled out via Alistair's gentle hands. Loghain's arms tightened around her as she felt her head loll and her body slump. The back of her head hit Loghain's armored shoulder and she heard him grunt with effort as if from a great distance. Her head then lolled forward as her body doubled over, the blackness of unconsciousness racing to greet her. She heard the Grand Cleric's voice as if from far away, quickly followed by Loghain's voice. _Sounds angry_.

When the darkness and vertigo faded moments later, Lhiannon found herself lying prone on the floor, looking up at the wooden rafters that crossed the ceiling. They doubled, then tripled in her vision. A dull throbbing began behind her eyes as her fuzzy head tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Are you all right?"

Lhiannon looked with bleary eyes toward Loghain, the anxious look on his face softening as he coalesced into a single figure. She felt his relief through the taint and saw it reflected in the blue of his eyes. Groaning loudly, she moved to sit, Loghain helping her into position.

"I'll be all right," Lhiannon said, nodding weakly. As she settled into a seated position, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, her hand moving to her temple. "Ooh, that was a bad idea; my head just stopped spinning and now it's started all over again." She looked about, seeing only Alistair and Loghain in the small study with her. "Where's the Grand Cleric? I thought she'd be pleased to see me drained."

"She did smirk," Alistair shrugged, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. With his and Loghain's help, Lhiannon stood, leaning against Loghain as the world threatened to turn upside down once more. He bore her weight easily, an arm wrapped around her waist to support her.

"I asked her to leave," Loghain said, his comment causing the King to scoff and shake his head, a grin pulling on the corner of his mouth.

"If you threatening to slap the self-righteous look off her face was asking her to leave, I'd hate to see you _demanding_ that she leave."

A weak laugh came from Lhiannon as she turned her head and brushed her lips along the skin of Loghain's jaw. "That's just one of the reasons why I love you, Loghain. You're such a diplomat."

"Perhaps that draining took more from you than your mana if you believe me to be such," Loghain scoffed.

A look of concern crossed Alistair's face. "Do you need a few moments to gather yourself, Lhi? I feel terrible about having to drain you like that."

Lhiannon waved her hand. "I'll be fine. But we had better make our presence known out there; I don't want anyone thinking we are up to something back here."

* * *

The palace chamberlain stood before the gathered nobility and guests, raising a hand in the air as he called for order. The cacophony of chatter faded as the attention of those gathered moved to the dais at the head of the Landsmeet chamber. "My lords and ladies! Honored guests! You are all welcomed to this court and Landsmeet of our sovereign King Alistair Theirin, son of King Maric Theirin and heir to the blood of Calenhad, First King of Ferelden, and his wife, Queen Anora Mac Tir Theirin. Bare not thy blade and respect will be shown to thee in turn."

"Our blades are yours, my lord."

Loghain scoffed quietly, remembering the first time he heard a similar opening statement. It was in Gwaren, a lifetime ago; Maric young and resplendent in his black ermine lined robe, nervous sweat pouring down his face. The formal response sounded hollow then and it still sounded hollow now. Alistair moved from his place on the dais near his throne, opening a door off to the side and guiding Anora through with a hand at the small of her back. Nerys was wrapped in a light blanket, asleep in her mother's loving arms. Loghain felt the pride swelling within him at the sight of his beloved daughter, radiant in a blue gown with white trim, holding his precious granddaughter. She took her place on the dais next to Alistair, turning to address the gathered nobility and guests.

"My lords and ladies, I present to you the crown princess of Ferelden, Gearoidin Nerys Mac Tir Theirin, child of the Maker and heir to the throne of Calenhad." Anora paused, looking about the room and meeting the eyes of Arl Eamon. The Queen fought to keep her smug satisfaction in check, remembering what Eamon had tried to convince Cailan to do. Clearly, _she_ was not the problem when it came to providing an heir to Calenhad's throne. Alistair was a Grey Warden no less—his ability to sire a child falling with each passing month—and _still_ Anora was able to fashion life within her. They would begin trying to fashion another life as soon as they could, hoping for another sibling for Nerys as well as an heir to Gwaren. She kept her gaze steadily on Eamon as she began to speak again.

"Within Princess Nerys flows the blood of Calenhad, he who united the warring teyrns and gave birth to our great nation. With this Landsmeet, let us work together to give her a strong and united nation, free of the recent strife we have faced. Let us give to her a Ferelden made strong in the spirit of cooperation. Rejoice with the King and me in the birth of Ferelden's future."

The gathered nobles clapped and cheered for their young princess, cries of "long live the princess!" echoing throughout the chamber.

With a small nod, a nursery maid arrived and took Nerys from Anora, carrying her out of the Landsmeet chamber. Anora looked after Nerys longingly, wishing it was she who was leaving the chamber with Nerys and not the nursery maid. Though she and Alistair had taken great pains in planning the Landsmeet, even she knew that she could not foresee everything. However, she hoped the Crown's first order of business would go a long way in placating the nobles' most urgent requests and keep the Landsmeet from dragging on unnecessarily. If this first proclamation went well, Anora felt it would help smooth the way for the other, potentially pricklier, pronouncements

"I know many of you are here seeking the Crown's help. We all have helped each other cope with the rebuilding, but more is needed," Anora began, moving to stand next to Alistair as she spoke. "The King and I have heard of your plights and we were saddened by your stories. Not one of us here has been spared the pain and grief of losing land, homes, and loved ones."

"These recent months have been spent rebuilding our cities... primarily Denerim, Amaranthine, and the villages surrounding them, though all of you have worked hard and sacrificed much to restore your lands," Alistair added, turning toward Lhiannon and gesturing to her. "The Crown will task the Grey Wardens with evaluating the land the darkspawn tainted and determining what can be immediately reclaimed and what must be done to revitalize the remaining land."

"There is, however, more we _can_ and _must_ do," Anora said as she looked out over the gathered nobles. This was the moment she had high hopes for; if this gesture was well received by the nobility—especially by those of the Bannorn—it would significantly reduce the resistance they would likely encounter when the other pronouncements were made.

Taking a deep breath, the Queen continued. "We all have suffered from the ravages of the Blight and there is still a great deal of work ahead of us in rebuilding our great nation. In response, the Crown will hereby halve the semiannual taxes that would have been paid at the conclusion of this Landsmeet, as well as quarter the next semiannual payment. You, as noblemen and women, need to have coin available to purchase what you need and complete the restoration efforts in your lands. I entrust this most urgent task to you."

Gasps of surprise and low murmuring filled the hall. A number of nobles clapped and cheered loudly. Lhiannon leaned close to Loghain as the sound rose within the Landsmeet chamber, her lips nearly brushing his ear. "Did you know they were going to do this?"

"No, but it does not surprise me that Anora would have thought about this." Loghain's brows lowered and his face took on a troubled look. "She must be looking to foster goodwill early, which tells me she anticipates some heated debates later. I think, perhaps, she is looking to soften their stances with such gestures."

Movement out of the corner of Lhiannon's eye drew her attention away from Loghain. She placed a hand on his arm and nodded discretely to the side as she saw Arl Eamon move forward from his place in the Landsmeet chamber. The cheers and murmurs fell as he approached the main aisle of the hall, his red armor gleaming brightly. His rich voice easily filled the hall as he spoke.

"King Alistair, do you not think this will bankrupt the country? We have stresses enough in this nation without adding empty coffers to the list." Eamon held out his hands as if to implore Alistair to listen to reason. "This plan will create more hardship for this nation, not less. There must be an alternative."

"I won't lie, this will be difficult," Alistair said, coming to stand at Anora's side to present a united front. "All of us, even the Crown, will have to do more with less. Reducing the taxes will put more money in your pockets and the pockets of your people to buy what is needed. Until the Grey Wardens have fully examined the tainted lands, we will have to turn all available land into either pastures or cropland; food is of the utmost importance now and we cannot have too much of it. We will also need to increase our sea harvests, both from Lake Calenhad and the northern and eastern seas."

Anora held up a hand to Eamon, who had opened his mouth to speak. "Trade is increasing through the ports at Denerim, Amaranthine, Gwaren, and Highever. A small increase in the import fees will help offset the loss of tax revenue. We are also seeing increased demand for Ferelden products from the Free Marches, especially Kirkwall. There are many expatriates there demanding goods from their homeland. The increased demand for our products will drive up prices as supplies fall, as well as put more able bodied Fereldens to work to make those products."

Eamon looked to Alistair once more, his voice taking on an urgent tone. "King Alistair, please listen to me. This plan..."

"If you were worried about the coffers and granaries of Redcliffe running empty, you need not worry," Anora said, moving to stand before the Arl so that he could not ignore her as he had tried to do. "The Crown does not wish to see you bear an unnecessary burden." Anora's eyes narrowed slightly as she spoke to the arl. "The Crown thanks you for your past offers of support for your neighbors. We wish to see our nation thrive once more."

A deep frown crossed the Arl's face as he and the Queen stared at each other. Not breaking eye contact, Anora gestured toward the chamber with her hand. "Arl Eamon, I ask that you return to your place in the gallery.

The Landsmeet was quiet for a brief moment as Queen Anora and Arl Eamon scrutinized each other, each waiting for the inevitable argument to come. The tension between them was palpable, a nearly tangible thing that seemed to grow as the silence continued; calm before the storm. It was the Arl that broke the silence first.

"Your Majesty," Arl Eamon said, his voice carrying through the chamber, "we, your vassals, deserve to know how you plan on keeping this nation from being bankrupted. Taxes, as much as we all dislike them, _must _be collected."

"I must agree with the Arl," Bann Murdock of Rainesfere said, coming forward to stand beside his liege Eamon. "We are all affected by the actions of the crown, either directly or indirectly."

Anora turned her cool stare to the Bann. "And I agree with you, Bann Murdock." The Queen lifted her chin, looking out to those behind them in the hall. "This was not an easy decision to make, but it was necessary. The Crown will have to do more with less, as all of you have done. Your other vassals and the nobles of the Bannorn seem to be pleased with the prospect of paying fewer taxes. One wonders why you would not be." Anora paused, her gaze moving back and forth between the Arl and the Bann before she spoke again, her voice as cold as a Ferelden winter. "I ask that you return to your places within the gallery. You will have ample opportunity to speak during this Landsmeet."

Loghain watched as his daughter paused in her thought, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded Eamon. From the slightly stiff way she held herself and the slight lowering of her voice, Loghain could see that what little patience his daughter had for Eamon was quickly running out.

"_That_," Anora continued, her icy voice lowered so that only those closest to her could hear, "I promise you."

The men shared a glance before nodding their heads toward the King and Queen. Anora could see that they were not particularly happy with having been dismissed at this early stage of the Landsmeet. There was an agenda the Crown wished to follow and to have the proceedings already interrupt by those wanting to have their opinions heard before anyone else had an opportunity to speak vexed Anora greatly. She stepped back to stand beside Alistair, looking up into his pleasant face. A flutter went through Anora's heart at seeing her King in his regalia. Alistair was so similar in appearance to Cailan yet so completely different in many ways. Her eyes scanned Alistair's face. His jaw was clenched in tension as he watched the Arl and Bann return to their places in the gallery.

"You knew this was going to be contentious," Anora whispered.

"I know, Anora. I just didn't think they would start trying to push their own agendas already."

Anora scoffed lightly. "Then you still have much to learn about the politics of Ferelden, Alistair."

"Apparently so."

* * *

_And so, the Landsmeet begins...and goes on. When I originally planned the Landsmeet, I thought it would only go one chapter. Then as I fleshed out the laundry list, it became clear that it would be two. Now...I'm thinking three. Sorry. I'm also rather worried about this part of the story...no pressure, right Jessie and T? :p  
_

_The opening greeting of the Landsmeet and the title of the chapter should be familiar to those of you who have read "The Stolen Throne." _

_Special thanks to reviewers Shakespira, Aura of Darkness Night, JackOfBladesX, Wyl, Dante Alighieri, Arsinoe, cloud1004, Jessie Long, Gene Dark, Enaid Aderyn, Ventisquear, and Tyanilth. You all are better than chocolate chip cookies right from the oven. :)  
_

_Two new things for anyone interested. I am writing a full prequel for "Rend Asunder." It's called "Revelations" and chapter one has already been posted. "Retribution" will be my main focus, but I hope to update "Revelations" several times a month (depending on how finicky the muse gets). Second, I posted a new picture of Lhiannon out on deviantArt. It's here if you'd like to see it (take the spaces out, of course): http :/ /josielange . deviantart . com /art/ Fire-Burns-261923274_

_Thanks so much to everyone following along!_


	41. Birthrights

**_NOTE: edits have been made to this chapter with the release of chapter 42._**

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Alistair lifted his chin to speak to the nobility. He glanced down to where Lhiannon stood in her Warden Commander armor, her gaze focused on him. Alistair watched as she gave him a grin and a wink of encouragement. He gave her a barely perceptible nod in return, turning his attention to those gathered once more.

"For the next order of business, the Crown calls Ser Cauthrien Schelby, Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever, and the Grey Wardens forward."

Lhiannon turned and watched Cauthrien come forward from where she stood among the small delegation from Gwaren that had met her in Denerim. She wore what appeared to be new ceremonial plate, a short surcoat over her armor with the wyvern of Gwaren emblazoned on the front. Cauthrien moved with an effortless grace despite the heavy armor adorning her figure. Reaching the dais, she bowed her head respectfully, preparing to lower herself to one knee but stopping when the King waived it off. Lhiannon snickered to herself. _Cauthrien makes wearing heavy armor look effortless. I still have to use some of my magical energies to keep from crumpling under this plate._

Murmurs ran through the hall when Fergus Cousland appeared in the main aisle, his heavy chain armor old but meticulously cared for. The crest of the Cousland family adorned the gleaming breastplate. It caught the light as he moved forward, the green leaves seeming to move of their own accord as if in a gentle breeze. He came forward with chin held high and stood next to Cauthrien, nodding a greeting to his lieges before turning and murmuring a greeting to the knight beside him.

When Fergus had made his way to the dais, Loghain motioned Lhiannon to follow him as he moved toward the aisle from where they sat. Reaching the aisle he stepped aside, allowing Lhiannon to move past him before walking side by side with her up the main aisle of the chamber. His cool eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for both allies and adversaries among those gathered. Though many faces watched with the careful neutrality of nobility, others wore expressions ranging from friendly to inimical.

As she and Loghain approached the dais, Lhiannon kept her gaze firmly forward, trying to quash the nervousness brought on by dozens of eyes watching and scrutinizing their every move. It was as if a multitude of bugs crawled over her skin, their scuttling legs causing her skin break out in gooseflesh and a clammy sweat to pool under her armor. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the dais where they took their places; Loghain stood with Cauthrien on his right and Lhiannon on his left. They too nodded to the King and Queen before greeting Cauthrien and Fergus. Once the attention of all was returned forward, Alistair spoke above their heads and addressed the gathering behind them.

"Duly witnessed and signed documents have been filed here in Denerim uniting Lhiannon Amell and Loghain Mac Tir in marriage, confirming Loghain as Arl of Amaranthine…"

Alistair stopped abruptly, his eyes moving off to the side and his jaw clenching tightly. Lhiannon heard hurried footsteps approaching the dais. Without turning her head, she had a very good guess as to who could be approaching, given the current subject matter. Finally, unable to stop herself, Lhiannon turned her head.

It was the Grand Cleric, Talitha, who stepped forward and moved to Fergus Cousland's side in a rustle of brightly colored robes. An expression of grim and righteous determination adorned her face. "Your Majesty, as a representative of Her Perfection, I must officially protest this. The Chantry has not blessed this baseless marriage and therefore we do not recognize it. We implore the Crown to do the same."

Raising a hand, Alistair turned toward the Grand Cleric. "With all due respect, Your Grace, please hold your argument while I finish explaining to the Landsmeet what has transpired. I promise you, you will be allowed speak your piece."

The Grand Cleric stood stoic, her gaze holding Alistair's firm as she continued to present her argument. "Your Majesty, as a former templar in training you know that I must ensure that the laws of the Maker are followed by _everyone_; we must show the Maker that we have atoned so that He will return to us. The Maker's will _must_ be followed and you risk bringing His wrath upon all of us for defying it!"

Low murmurs filled the chamber at Grand Cleric Talitha's declaration. Lhiannon scoffed and turned toward where the Grand Cleric stood, preparing an icy retort when Loghain's hand brushed her arm. She looked up at her husband, who with a flick of his icy eyes indicated to where Anora had taken a step forward on the dais. Turning her attention toward the Queen, Lhiannon observed her stepdaughter look pointedly at the Grand Cleric for a moment, holding the priest's gaze with her own until the older woman flinched and looked away. Once the Grand Cleric's eyes were elsewhere, Anora swept her cool gaze over the gathered crowd of Ferelden nobility. While her voice was even, her irritation could be plainly heard in her tone.

"Twice now these proceedings have been interrupted by those from the gallery, seeking to speak their piece before they have been acknowledged by the Crown. The Crown _will not_ tolerate further disruptions." The Queen's eyes narrowed as she paused to let her words sink in. The room was silent, only a small sniffle or cough breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I promise you, all that wish to be heard at these proceedings will be have their opportunity, but let me be absolutely clear: the Crown _will not_ tolerate further interruptions from _anyone_. If you wish to speak, you will come into the aisle or raise your hand to be acknowledged_ before_ you step forward or begin speaking. _We will have order at this gathering_. The next person that interrupts these proceedings will be excused from the remainder of the Landsmeet. Have I made myself completely clear?"

More silence greeted the Queen; several of those gathered shifting from foot to foot under her wintery gaze. The Grand Cleric scowled, but held her tongue. She spun on her heel and returned to an empty place at the front of the gallery, wanting to remain as close to the dais as she could.

Anora remained silent for several moments, intently watching the crowd for any response or protest. When it appeared there would be none, she nodded.

"Very well; your silence gives your consent." Anora stepped back toward Alistair's side, nodding for him to continue.

"As I was saying," Alistair began, "legally and properly signed and witnessed documents have been filed here in Denerim uniting Lhiannon Amell and Loghain Mac Tir in marriage. With this arrangement, Loghain has renounced his title of Teyrn of Gwaren to take the title of Arl of Amaranthine next to his wife, the Warden Commander and Arlessa, Lhiannon Amell Mac Tir."

A low sound came from the Grand Cleric, barely audible to Lhiannon's ears. Apparently, the Queen had also heard the muttering and gave the Grand Cleric an icy glare, no doubt silently warning the woman to keep her opinions to herself until such time she was given the opportunity to speak. Part of Lhiannon hoped the Grand Cleric would speak out of turn again so she could be removed from the Landsmeet chamber. _The Landsmeet will go much more smoothly without her here stirring the pot. _With a brow raised, Loghain turned his head to look down at her; evidently, he had sensed something in the taint between them. Lhiannon met Loghain's eyes and returned his raised brow with a quirk of her own.

Alistair, oblivious to the looks his Queen and the Grand Cleric gave one another, continued to speak. "As part of the agreement, Ser Cauthrien Schelby takes the title of Steward of Gwaren until an heir is of age to become Teyrn or Teyrna of Gwaren."

Loghain saw the King motion to someone in the gallery, acknowledging them with a hand and a nod. "Bann Ceorlic, you wish to speak?" Turning his head toward the nobles behind him, Loghain's eyes met those of Ceorlic. The Bann's faced paled considerably under Loghain's intense and icy glare._ Lickspittle, _Loghain scoffed to himself.

The fat bann stepped into the aisle, the constant sheen of sweat on his skin gleaming in the light. "Surely the question of succession has been discussed at length," Ceorlic said, his eyes flitting between those at the dais. "Since my lands border those of Gwaren, I'd like to know who my neighbors will be."

Loghain fought to not roll his eyes. Ceorlic, if nothing else, was likely trying to see who he would have to charm in order to keep in Gwaren's good graces. He could try to charm Cauthrien—and Loghain half hoped he would try it—but he knew that the new Steward would not be impressed by Ceorlic's wiles. In fact, Cauthrien would undoubtedly despise Ceorlic even more than she did now if he tried to ingratiate himself to her. He was the son of a traitor and while it was true that the sons should not pay for the sins of the father, Ceorlic was still as slippery as they came and Loghain did not trust the man for an instant. Loghain knew that Cauthrien was likely more than willing to give Ceorlic enough rope to hang himself with.

A number of nods could be seen among those in the hall, curious looks and hands cupped to ears betrayed the profound curiosity of the men and women in attendance. Anora looked to her father and Lhiannon; Loghain quirked a brow and shrugged slightly, silently giving consent to speak of the succession arrangements now rather than dismissing Ceorlic outright. _Ceorlic likely doesn't have the mind to follow this at any rate._

"The arrangements, Bann Ceorlic, are thus," Anora began, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Steward Cauthrien will administer Gwaren until the King and I have a second child and they become of age to rule the teyrnir."

Loghain saw Ceorlic's eyes flick to him briefly before returning to the Queen. The portly bann produced a small square of cloth from a pocket in his tunic, dabbing at his sweaty brow. "But what of the Arl and Arlessa's children? If my memory is correct, the Arling of Amaranthine was gifted to the Grey Wardens, not the Arl and Arlessa personally to be handed down to their heirs." Ceorlic paused, one brow lifting in snide questioning. "Unless that has changed somehow; this is, of course, your prerogative as King and Queen."

It was Alistair that responded to Ceorlic's question. "No, the Arling of Amaranthine does not personally belong to the Arl and Arlessa to be passed to their heirs; that has not changed. The next Warden Commander will become the head of the arling." Alistair looked to Lhiannon; her face was seemingly calm, but the part of the taint that was her seethed in irritation. Beyond her irritation, Alistair could sense sadness within her, no doubt at the discussion of heirs.

"But then why would your second child be the future teyrn or teyrna?" Ceorlic asked. "What of any heirs the Grey Wardens would produce?"

Alistair looked once more to where Lhiannon stood next to Loghain, her face a carefully neutral mask. She looked up and met Alistair's gaze with her own sad eyes for a moment before they fell away. Loghain turned his head slightly to regard his wife, a hard look on his face at the reaction Ceorlic's questions had on her. Where the part of the taint that was Lhiannon became more melancholy as the moments passed, the part that was Loghain grew more agitated. He turned back toward Alistair, giving the King a curt nod of consent. What he really wished to do was to calmly walk up to the bann and cuff him in his insolent mouth. _Perhaps a few broken teeth will teach Ceorlic to keep his impertinent line of questioning to himself. _

Alistair gave his father-in-law a curt nod before returning his attention to the bann. "Suffice it to say, Bann Ceorlic, that Grey Wardens rarely have families. However, if the Warden Commander and her Second are blessed with a child before the Queen and I have a second, then their child will be the heir to Gwaren. If not, our child will become Gwaren's heir and their child will become the Arl or Arlessa of Denerim, as that title is vacant for the moment."

A bann stepped forward into the aisle, raising his hand for attention. Lhiannon did not recognize this man from the coronation ceremonies after the fall of the archdemon. The man was about as tall as Alistair, but significantly heavier. He had flaming red hair and moved slowly as if his joints pained him, his walk assisted by cane with an ornate handle in what appeared to be silverite. _At that size, the poor man probably hurts all the time._ Lhiannon touched Loghain's arm to get his attention, reaching up and gently pulling his head toward her lips. "Who is that man? I do not recognize the crest he wears."

"That is Bann Lochlann of the Oswin bannorn," Loghain quietly explained. "Oswin is a small group of landholdings in western Ferelden near Lake Calenhad. Lochlann only comes to the capital for the Landsmeet, preferring to stay on his lands and sending one of his sons in his stead when other obligations require Oswin's presence."

Bann Lochlann nodded gravely to the King and Queen before turning his gaze to Lhiannon. "Begging your pardon, Warden Commander, but it is my understanding that as a mage of the Circle, you would not be allowed to keep a child you bear. It is my understanding that the child is taken by the Chantry at birth."

"I am a_ Grey Warden_, Bann Lochlann," Lhiannon said through gritted teeth, unable to keep her silence any longer. "I am no longer part of the Circle of Magi. That association ended upon my conscription, as King Alistair will no doubt corroborate."

"I would never allow it," Loghain said, the indignation clear in his rising voice. "I will fight _anyone_ to the death that would attempt to take any child that the Warden Commander and I may be blessed with. That is _not_ a threat; it is a _promise_."

The Grand Cleric stepped forward once more, this time raising a hand to be acknowledged. Lhiannon turned her head to look at the woman, their eyes meeting for the first time that day. The Grand Cleric's eyes narrowed as she looked at Lhiannon, her lips pursing and frown lines crossing her face. Lhiannon bit her tongue to keep her place, not wanting to pour fuel on the fire that the Grand Cleric was no doubt trying to kindle.

"Your Grace, you had something to say?" Alistair asked.

"I do," Grand Cleric Talitha said, stepping forward with a rustle of robes. "The Warden Commander has flagrantly ignored the Maker's laws by her actions. She not only rules over others, but has also entered into an unsanctioned marriage and sheltered a known apostate rather than turn him over to the templars that sought to return him to the Circle." The Grand Cleric turned and pointed an accusatory finger at Lhiannon. "In any case, the topic of children is a moot point. Those that defy the Maker's will in such a profound and flagrant manner are _not _blessed with children." Murmurs once again filled the Landsmeet chamber accompanied by both the shaking and nodding of heads.

Alistair felt the taint explode with fury from both Lhiannon and Loghain at the Grand Cleric's words. The situation was clearly escalating between the Grand Cleric and the Grey Wardens and would soon be out of control if nothing was done to calm the situation. Moving quickly, Alistair came off the dais to stand in the main aisle, putting himself between the furious Mac Tirs and the stoic Grand Cleric. He held up a hand toward where Lhiannon and Loghain stood, imploring them to remain silent. As he looked to them, Alistair could see Lhiannon's fair skin bright with anger and her hands balled into tight fists. Loghain stood a half step in front of her, an arm held out to instinctively protect her and his glare as cold as the depths of Ferelden winter. Alistair silently thanked the Maker as he watched Lhiannon bite her bottom lip to keep from venting her obvious anger. Loghain simply glared through Alistair toward where the Grand Cleric stood on Alistair's other side.

Once he was sure his fellow Grey Wardens were keeping their place, he turned toward the Grand Cleric. She was glaring past him toward where the Grey Wardens stood, crossing her arms over her chest and one hand coming up to grasp an amulet of Andraste's Flame that adorned her neck.

"Your Grace," Alistair said, "I do not think there is one among us who has not defied the Maker's will at some point. We are not perfect and He understands that. Such hurtful accusations are not welcome in this gathering and I would ask that you refrain from making them."

"The Warden Commander does not wish to hear the truth of the Maker's will," the Grand Cleric countered. "If she were to renounce her titles and turn over the apostate, perhaps the Maker—and the Divine—can be somewhat appeased."

"You go too far," Loghain said with an angry snarl.

"I will do no such thing, as you have been repeatedly told before," Lhiannon said, her teeth ground together so tightly that she could hear them squeaking through her skull. Her jaw was likely to ache terribly by the end of the day. "I serve the Crown, my people, and my Wardens and I will _not_ abandon them. I will _not_ nullify my marriage to my husband."

Loghain was preparing a second angry retort when Anora held up one of her small hands. "Perhaps it is time to get back to the subject at hand," Anora said, beckoning Alistair back toward the dais. "The succession plan in place is this: should King Alistair and I have a second child before the Arl and Arlessa of Amaranthine bear one, our child will be the heir to Gwaren. Their child, if born after, will be heir to the Arling of Denerim. Should they have a child first, their child will become Gwaren's heir."

Silence descended on the chamber for several moments and Lhiannon swore she could feel the tension increasing as time slipped by. She heard footsteps from behind her approaching the main aisle and turned to see who _now_ wanted to have their say. She scoffed lightly to herself; she was beginning to see just why Loghain loathed these gatherings. _He'll have a good laugh about this when I tell him later._

The man that stepped forward was one she recognized; Bann Loren. "With all due respect to the Warden Commander," he began, nodding toward Lhiannon as he spoke, "perhaps what the teyrnir of Gwaren needs is new blood. Why keep the teyrnir in Loghain Mac Tir's hands? He still has a vested interest in the teyrnir with Cauthrien as his Steward. While he had the gratitude of a nation for freeing us from Orlesian occupation, he destroyed that when he usurped the throne and set his dog Howe loose upon his rivals."

Before either she or Loghain could respond to the Bann's words, Lhiannon saw Fergus Cousland move toward where Bann Loren stood in the main aisle. His deep voice filled the Landsmeet chamber as he spoke. "Bann Loren, will it ease your mind to know that I have spoken with both the Crown and with the Grey Wardens? That I have given them Highever's support in this matter?"

Loren looked to Fergus, pain and grief crossing his features as he pointed an accusing finger at Loghain. "It was _his man_ that attacked your home and killed your family! He killed _my family_ as well, only because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. I cannot forgive him for that crime; I don't understand how you can."

"It was not his order to destroy Highever," Fergus said, his hand reaching out and resting on Loren's shoulder. Lhiannon could see the grief on the older man's face; he was understandably still mourning the murder of his wife and son at the hands of a power hungry nobleman who thought he deserved more. _Maker damn you to the Void, Rendon Howe._

"The Arl and I had a…discussion…not long after the fall of the archdemon," Fergus continued. "The Arl told me that he asked Rendon Howe to speak to my father about the death of King Calian and what could be done to unite the nation against the Blight." The young teyrn paused for a moment before continuing. "Do you know the history between the Couslands and the Howes, Bann Loren?"

Loren gave Fergus a knowing nod. "I know that the Couslands and Howes had been bitter enemies during the war with Orlais, when Tarleton Howe sided with the Orlesians to keep his lands while the Couslands fought with King Maric."

"Indeed," Fergus said, nodding his approval to the older bann. "Howe and my father had planned on meeting at Highever and riding together to the battle at Ostagar. When Howe arrived, he told my father that his men would be delayed. Not one to delay himself, my father sent me and our men to Ostagar ahead of him, intending to arrive with Howe and his army." Fergus paused, his eyes lowering for a moment before meeting Bann Loren's gaze once more. "You know what happened then. Howe saw an opportunity to seize his so-called 'rightful lands' by murdering our families and declaring himself Teyrn. He was nothing more than an opportunistic, power hungry madman." Fergus jerked his head back toward the dais and where the King and Queen stood. "Not even Loghain himself was spared Howe's treachery and ambition and while that does not completely absolve him, the Arl has proven to _me_ that he has worked hard as a Grey Warden to atone for the deeds of the past. Besides, as Arl of Amaranthine, he is _my_ vassal now." Fergus turned to grin at Lhiannon before leaning toward Loren, his face turning mischievous and his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Not that I have to worry about him with the Warden Commander at his side, eh? You know how wives tend to watch over their husbands. Oriana was always trying to make sure I stayed out of trouble."

Loren scoffed slightly, clearing his throat before speaking. "Aye, that I do. My Landra was always trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. I will trust in your judgment, young Teyrn Cousland." Several nearby nobles murmured among themselves, whether agreeing with the old Bann or not beyond Fergus' hearing. He knew, however, that this was the time to put the anxieties of wavering nobles to rest.

Having attended a number of Landsmeets and court gatherings at his father's side, Fergus had learned how to read the atmosphere of the room. The tension in the room had grown during the conversation regarding the succession plans for Gwaren. While a number of nobles would unquestioningly follow either the Grey Wardens or the Crown, there were others who would try to play one end against the other to further their own agendas…or the agendas of allies. Fergus knew that, at this Landsmeet, he would be able to curry a great deal of sympathy simply because of what happened to his family in the recent past. Part of him felt a sense of loathing for using the Cousland tragedy in such a manner, but the simple fact of the matter was the sympathy of the gathered nobles could be used to his advantage and for the advantage of his recovering teyrnir. _Maker's breath, I must sound like an Orlesian lord in Empress Celene's court._

Patting the older man's shoulder, Fergus turned back toward the dais, where the King and Queen as well as the two Grey Wardens watched the exchange with interest. "Your Majesties, would you permit me a few moments to speak more on this subject?"

The King and Queen shared a quick glance before turning back toward the young teyrn. "As you are a material part of this order of business, you may have a few minutes to speak," Anora said.

Nodding his thanks, Fergus began to walk the main aisle of the Landsmeet chamber, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "I agreed to this arrangement because it will serve to keep the succession plans of the teyrnir stable and unquestioned. If the only other teyrnir in Ferelden descended into chaos due to lack of leadership, it could cause terrible instability for Ferelden as a whole. We _cannot_ have instability within our kingdom, not now. We have just suffered a Blight and in record time, we have defeated it. While that is something we should take pride in, we must remember that now is not the time to begin squabbling amongst ourselves. We must project an image of stability to our neighbors." Fergus stopped as he reached the end of the hall, pointing to a map of Thedas mounted on the wall. "You know as well as I do that Ferelden could be seen as a tempting target for conquest if we are perceived as weak. Leaving Gwaren in the capable hands of Steward Cauthrien keeps a large part of Ferelden from descending into chaos and makes our rivals think twice about turning conquering eyes to us."

"Your Grace," Bann Murdock said as Fergus passed his area of the gallery, "you know that the Arl still has a vested interest in the teyrnir. Who is to say he will not issue commands to the Steward, still ruling Gwaren from Amaranthine? He would be both Arl of Amaranthine and, in essence, Teyrn of Gwaren."

"I must agree," another voice echoed out from the hall, "we all know that Cauthrien is Loghain's right hand. She follows his orders without question!"

Loghain scoffed to himself at the statement. _Clearly, that man was not at Ostagar when Cauthrien questioned my order to pull Gwaren's armies from the battle; nor was he at the last Landsmeet when Cauthrien allowed Lhiannon to pass into the hall despite my direct orders to apprehend her. _

As if he had heard Loghain's unspoken thought, Fergus addressed the owner of the voice. "I am no friend of the Arl, this much is true. However, I _do_ know that he would not want an officer among his ranks who did _not_ question orders when they became suspect."

Cauthrien stepped forward at long last, turning toward the gallery to address them directly. "While I will take the advice of the Arl into advisement, he has entrusted me with the teyrnir until an heir comes of age. I will be making my decisions based on what will be best for the heir, not what is best for anyone else." She then looked to Loghain, giving him a knowing nod. "And if you think I have not questioned the Arl in the past, you would be mistaken. He and I have had a number of heated…discussions…in the past regarding the armies. The Arl does not tolerate soldiers under his command that follow orders blindly."

"In all likelihood, it will be the Crown that assists the Steward," Alistair said. "It will likely be a prince or princess of Ferelden that will inherit Gwaren when they come of age."

Another voice cried out from the other side of the hall, ignoring the Queen's request for order. "But how do you know this for sure? If the Queen can conceive after so many years of barrenness, surely the Warden Commander can conceive a child." There was a pause before the voice filled the hall again. "Why do you think the Warden Commander cannot bear a child? Is she barren?"

Lhiannon snorted lightly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The subject of her fertility being discussed in front of the Landsmeet was becoming decidedly uncomfortable, not to mention sad. It was yet another reminder of something she would never have. _Why the Chantry is so paranoid about me having a child is beyond me. If they only knew…but why give them the satisfaction of knowing the truth?_

She need not worry about trying to explain the reason why Grey Wardens rarely had children, as the Queen stepped forward and regarded the insolent bann with her cold glare. "That question, ser, is _completely_ out of line and entirely disrespectful to not only the Warden Commander, but to my father and the Crown as well."

The bann mumbled a hasty apology to both the Queen and Lhiannon before melting back into the gallery, his body hidden in the sea of bodies around him. Fergus began to walk toward the dais when the King held up a hand to gather attention to himself.

"The Teyrn of Highever is correct; the succession plans for Gwaren are meant to ensure stability and clarify where the heir will come from so that there will be no questions later. That being said, I think this is a good a place as any to break for now. We shall reconvene after the midday meal to continue the Landsmeet. Listen for the criers; they will make the rounds of the palace district announcing that all should return to the Landsmeet chamber. Maker watch over you all."

* * *

_I know, I'm late this week in posting. RL has been a huge pain in the backside the last ten days or so, which took a toll on the muse. When I found her again, I wanted to get a large chunk of the Landsmeet written before I posted this chapter. The good news is, I have enough written for another full chapter. The bad news is that after that chapter, the Landsmeet is only about half over. I'm thinking that instead of two chapters dealing with the Landsmeet, there could be three or even four. Well, those of you that have been clamoring for it are getting your wish now, aren't you? ;)  
_

_Some notes here. First, no matter where I looked, I couldn't find any reference to Cauthrien's last name (though the Cheeky Monkeys had some rather...creative...ones). *giggles* So...I made it up. The last name is made up of two middle English words: "schele," meaning "hut" and "by," meaning "farm or settlement." So, her name roughly translates as "settlement of huts."_

_Second, according to the Dragon Age Wiki, Oswin is one of the nine known bannorns in Ferelden. Lochlann is my own._

_As for this chapter, just a few thoughts. First, in Awakening, I believe it's Templar Rylock that says the laws of the Maker supersede the laws of man. If the Chantry doesn't recognize Lhi's marriage and still consider her part of the Circle, they would likely hold the threat of taking any child she would bear over her head. Would they actually do it? I think Loghain would singlehandedly take on the entire Chantry if they so much as thought about it.  
_

_I like Fergus Cousland, but as a shrewd nobleman, he likely understands that anything that can be used as an advanage must be, well, used to his advantage. The murder of his entire family will bring him a great deal of sympathy; if he doesn't use that to his advantage now, he may never get the chance to do so later. The passage of time will weaken that advantage. Cold? Perhaps.  
_

_As always, special thanks and gratitude goes to reviewers Shakespira, Aura of Darkness Night, Oleander's One, cloud1004, JackOfBladesX, Arsinoe, Gene Dark, Dante Alighieri, Ventisquear, Persephone Chiara, Jessie Long, Darkchubb, Enaid Aderyn, and xseikax. I love hearing from each and every one of you, and thank you all for your support and idea spawning._

___T: I know you haven't read yet, but you'll get here eventually. ;)_

_Thanks as well to all the readers hanging out in the background. :)_


	42. Proclamations

_Notes, part one: Very special thanks to betas-on-call Gene Dark, Shakespira, and Tyanilth for your insight. I appreciate the candid feedback you gave me. Extra special thanks to Tyanilth for literally listening to me whine about this chapter (would I like some cheese to go with that whine? Why, yes I would!). You saved my muse. :)_

_**Please note that with the release of this chapter, some significant editing was made to chapters 40 and 41. You may wish to review those chapters; while it isn't necessary to do so before reading this, you'll be aware of the changes that were made. This chapter was also edited for content after the original posting.**_

_We'll talk more at the end of the chapter._

* * *

A small army of criers descended upon the palace district of Denerim not long after the bells of the grand cathedral tolled noontime, calling the Landsmeet attendees to return to the palace within the hour. Seeking a precious few minutes of peace and solitude, Lhiannon had asked Loghain to accompany her to their standing guest rooms within the palace for their midday meal. She stood at the window after she finished eating, watching the small sea of nobility wind their way through the streets below on their way back to the Landsmeet chamber. Brightly colored clothing competed with the rays of the sun winking off gleaming armor as the attendees drew closer.

"Loghain, I can see why you have developed a loathing for these gatherings."

Coming up behind Lhiannon, Loghain settled his hands on Lhiannon's shoulders. She relaxed visibly as his touch calmed her, despite his amused chortle at her words. "And what, madam, makes you say that?"

With a scoff, she leaned back slightly until she rested against the armored expanse of Loghain's chest. "Everyone wants to say _their_ piece before anyone else. They want all the attention on _their_ needs or _their_ demands and they will not hesitate to step on anyone who stands in their way."

"Ah, you've forgotten the curry favoring and palm greasing," Loghain said, the sarcasm plain in his voice. "All the sweet words that pass through the nobles' mouths at the Landsmeet are enough to rot their teeth."

The tinkling of bells could still be heard throughout the palace district, the sound surprisingly sweet in the air. Lhiannon closed her eyes and listened to the bells for several moments, seeking to center herself before having to return to the Landsmeet chamber. No matter how many of these affairs she attended, she still felt completely out of her element. Her training at the Circle of Magi did not include political maneuvering.

"Are you feeling all right after the draining?"

The press of Loghain's lips to her head and the quiet concern in his voice brought Lhiannon from the solitude of her thoughts. Her mana regenerated as the morning passed and she was not looking forward to the possibility of having it drained again. As much as the draining had disoriented her at the time, she felt well enough at the moment.

"Yes," Lhiannon said, a reluctant sigh escaping her lips, "though I do not relish the thought of having to endure one again. Perhaps I should have Alistair do it before we leave for the chamber. I'm likely to throw up this time if the nausea I experienced was any indication. I'm sure the last thing the nobility needs to hear is the sound of my vomiting in the next room." She turned in his grasp, his hands moving to settle on her armored waist.

"Perhaps you should have your mana drained in the chamber itself."

Loghain watched Lhiannon's eyes narrow at him, studying him carefully and no doubt wondering why he would suggest having such a personal _ordeal_ take place in front of the entire gathering of nobility. The suggestion tasted bitter in his mouth; his duty was to protect her, not have her humiliated in front of mostly strangers. "There is no doubt many of those gathered have no idea what happens to a mage when they are drained or smited. It could generate sympathy for you when your reaction is observed."

With a huff, Lhiannon's eyes fell away from his, looking down to her feet. She shook her head. "I don't want their damned sympathy. I just want to get through this circus and get back to being a Grey Warden. I can't believe you'd even suggest such a thing."

Loghain scoffed, carefully placing his armored fingertips under her chin and gently lifting her face to meet his. "It is not my wish to see you harmed; nothing could be further from the truth. I never saw a smiting that close until today. It was uncomfortable to witness and not simply because you are my wife. Others will be uncomfortable with it as well."

A thought crossed Lhiannon's mind as she studied Loghain's face. "If I seem vulnerable, it dispels the perception that I am dangerous would-be magister. But what of those that believe mages _are_ dangerous and should be feared? Won't they be pleased to see that?"

"You are correct; some _will_ be pleased to see it and there is nothing that can be done about that for the moment."

The thought was intriguing, if not decidedly uncomfortable. Having Alistair drain her mana in private was embarrassing enough, especially in front of Loghain and the Grand Cleric. The thought of having Alistair drain her in front of dozens of people was disconcerting. She had never been drained twice in such a short time before and was unsure of how her body would react. It likely would not react well if past experience with just one draining was anything to go by. Healing herself would be out of the question; she would likely have to make sure a healing draught was on hand to counter any side effects of the second draining.

"You are nervous."

The statement from Loghain brought Lhiannon out of her thoughts, her eyes focusing once more on him and not beyond him. "'Nervous' doesn't do what I feel justice."

"I'm not saying it needs to be done right now. In fact, I suggest we wait and use this particular tactic if the situation presents itself during the Landsmeet." Loghain paused in his thought, looking over Lhiannon's head and outside for a moment as he thought aloud. "You are the Hero of Ferelden and as such, you command a great deal of respect from the populace. There will likely be ramifications if the Hero of Ferelden is treated like little more than an apostate."

"It will be hard for people to overcome their fear of mages. The Chantry has had centuries to propagate that fear. For good reason, in some cases."

"As I have said to you before, _you_ can be an instrument of change," Loghain said, tilting Lhiannon's chin upward so that she met his gaze directly. "It was a _mage_ that saved Ferelden from the Blight against all the odds. It is a _mage_ that governs an Arling that is beginning to prosper once more. _You_ are breaking all typecasts of mages just by doing your duty. _You_ are the face of mages. If the people—common, freeholders, and nobility alike—see you as a dynamic member of society, you can break the fear."

Lhiannon laughed lightly, reaching up and brushing her hand gently across Loghain's cheek . "You never cease to surprise me." She paused for a moment, sighing lightly. "There are still mages who will turn to demons for power or out of fear; they will only serve to remind the people of the dangers of mages."

Loghain snorted. "There are dangerous people all around us, madam, whether they command magical talents or not. Some of them are in the very chamber in which we are headed."

* * *

The clouds cleared and the sun shone brightly through the windows of the palace when the Landsmeet reconvened shortly after midday. With bellies full and a number of handshake deals made during the break, the Ferelden nobility streamed into the Landsmeet chamber, some alone, others in small groups. Raucous laughter could be heard from more than one person, testament to the ale that was consumed during the break.

A small delegation from the Ferelden Circle of Magi arrived as the noontime bell sounded, delayed due to poor weather on the journey east. Lhiannon smiled widely as she hailed the mages, all of whom she knew in one way or another.

Aneirin, Wynne's former apprentice, was the first to greet her. After meeting with them in the Brecilian Forest, he decided to take Wynne's advice to return to Kinloch Hold. In his time there, he officially completed his Harrowing and worked hard to regain the trust of First Enchanter Irving. Only recently had Aneirin been given the title of Senior Enchanter and this was his first trip away from Kinloch Hold since his return.

Ines Arancia was the second mage in the small entourage; Lhiannon was not sure if she was happy to see the prickly botanist or dreading her presence. Despite her cantankerous nature, Ines was a well-respected mage in the Ferelden Circle, often traveling to Cumberland and the College of Magi to speak about new discoveries she had made in the crafting of restorative draughts. Ines met Lhiannon's eyes and sighed, apparently bored with her surroundings.

The last mage was one Lhiannon greeted with a great hug and a peal of girlish laughter. It was one of her oldest friends from Kinloch Hold, Rigana. Lhiannon had not seen her old friend in a number of years; Rigana had been hired by a Ferelden native who worked as a mercenary protecting the royal family of Tantervale. At the end of her contract with the mercenary company, Rigana thought it best to return to Ferelden. Lhiannon had not had much time to speak with her old friend before the Landsmeet resumed, but she could sense that there was more to Rigana's return from the Free Marches than she had disclosed.

The Circle mages were accompanied by three templars. The first was Knight Commander Greagoir's second, Ser Hadley. Lhiannon only had a passing familiarity with the templar; he had been elevated to Second after Greagoir's previous Second was killed in Uldred's attempted usurping of Kinloch Hold. Lhiannon had been a Grey Warden by then, her duties to her order taking her away from Kinloch Hold as Hadley took his new role.

The second templar was one Lhiannon thought had perished when the darkspawn overran Lothering, but she was pleased to see that Ser Bryant was alive and well. He had evacuated as many people from Lothering as he could while the darkspawn approached and had planned on fighting the creatures with the templars that were to remain behind. The Revered Mother of Lothering instead insisted he lead the townsfolk to safety, as they needed his sword for protection. He had been opposed to leave the Chantry behind, but saw it as the Maker's will.

Cullen was the last templar that had accompanied the small delegation from Kinloch Hold. Just by looking at him for a moment, Lhiannon could see that he was a profoundly changed man. When she knew him at Kinloch Hold, he was a sweet young man, despite the fact that he was the templar assigned to kill her if she failed her Harrowing or turned into an abomination.

That changed after Uldred's abominations flooded Kinloch Hold. Uldred had imprisoned Cullen while he attempted to wrest control of the tower from Irving, plaguing the impressionable young man with torturous illusions for fun. After Uldred was destroyed, Cullen had fervently begged Knight Commander Greagoir to kill all the surviving mages within the tower as he feared they were all blood mages in hiding. Greagoir had refused after taking Irving's word that all the blood mages had been destroyed along with Uldred. Cullen appeared to have developed a deep animosity for mages because of Uldred's actions. Lhiannon supposed that if she watched her friends and colleagues tortured and killed by others, she might feel same way.

As the delegation surrendered their weapons and entered the chamber, templars Tavish and Deiniol were allowed to reenter the proceedings where they quickly flanked the Grand Cleric. Deiniol turned to the Grand Cleric, once again affirming his demand that the mages all be drained of mana before the Landsmeet resumed. Lhiannon watched as Ser Hadley approached the other templars, an angry look crossing his face.

"Your Grace, there is no need for such a stance." Hadley turned to where the mages and templars from Kinloch Hold stood behind him, gesturing to them with an armored hand. "Were these mages untrustworthy, they would never have been allowed to leave Kinloch Hold, as you are well aware. These templars will stand down." Not bothering to wait for a response, Hadley turned to face Lhiannon. "I apologize for the words of this templar, Warden Commander. Templars not only protect the population from evil magic, but protect the mages that we are sworn to oversee. Templar Deiniol should never have insisted you be drained of your mana and, with all due respect to the Grand Cleric, she should have questioned such a demand. These actions serve to widen the gulf between templar and mage and I, for one, would rather we work together."

Lhiannon heard a small grunt from where Loghain stood behind her. She could sense his skepticism through their shared taint. Truth be told, she was a bit skeptical herself given recent history, but was willing to take Hadley at his word. Knight Commander Greagoir was a tough man, but also fair. He would likely look for similar traits and beliefs in the one he chose as his second.

Believing in Greagoir's choice, Lhiannon nodded to the templar. "I would like to see that, Ser Hadley."

The palace chamberlain thumped a ceremonial staff on the floor three times, calling the Landsmeet to order. As the cacophony of speech quieted, Alistair held a hand up to gather the attention of those gathered to him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to discuss the next orders of business on the agenda." He began to walk along the dais, gesturing with his hands as he spoke.

"There were many heroes responsible for the defeat of the archdemon and the defense of Denerim. The Warden Commander and I used the ancient Grey Warden treaties to gather our allies in the dwarves and elves, as well as the armies of men and mages. It was with their cooperation that we were able to defeat the archdemon and Blight. Without their support, it is doubtful that any of us would be here."

Alistair paused in his speech, looking out over the crowd. They were listening patiently, some nodding in agreement while waiting to hear where the King was going with his speech. He turned to look at his fellow Grey Wardens. Both Lhiannon and Loghain had faraway looks on their faces, no doubt remembering the battle that nearly destroyed Denerim. The battle that nearly tore them apart before they could even begin a life together.

Indicating the Grey Wardens with his hand, Alistair continued. "Grey Wardens Lhiannon and Loghain fought bravely atop Fort Drakon with allies from the Circle of Magi, the dwarven armies of Orzammar, and the archers and warriors from the Dalish clans. Without the cooperation of such varied races, we would have fallen in short order." The King paused again, his eyes moving over the sea of faces turned toward him.

"It is of the elves that I now wish to speak."

The gathered nobility remained focused on Alistair; on their faces he saw expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness. The King could hardly blame them; to most of the landholders in the Bannorn, the bands of Dalish elves and their landships were more nuisance than anything. Anora had explained to Alistair that during her tenure as Queen, more than one landholder had approached the Crown complaining about the Dalish encroaching on their lands. While some landholders knew the Dalish would soon move on, many others sought to chase the trespassers off their lands and did so.

"During the battle of Denerim," Alistair said, beginning to pace once more, "the elves fought _with_ us. They fought for Denerim as if it were their very own. They stood shoulder to shoulder with the Grey Wardens and fought the darkspawn at the steps of Fort Drakon. They and the elves of the Denerim alienage fought off masses of darkspawn and defeated one of their powerful generals within the walls of the alienage proper. They harried the archdemon on the roof of Fort Drakon with their deadly arrows."

"Should have let the darkspawn clean out the alienage," a voice mumbled from nearby. "Save us a lot of trouble with them knife ears."

Whirling about, Alistair turned and glared at the owner of the voice, a minor bann from just outside Denerim. He pointed an accusatory finger at the vassal. "The elves have suffered great losses, just like _we_ have. _They_ had homes and families too. They risked what little they had to defend their meager homes and assist the Grey Wardens. They, and the Dalish, _sacrificed _themselves to help us. It is time to honor them for that sacrifice."

A few low murmurs were heard through the Landsmeet chamber, whispers of curiosity buzzing through the hall. Alistair turned to look at Anora, who gave him a small nod of encouragement. Returning her gesture, Alistair stepped back up onto the dais, turning to face his vassals.

"It is the intention of the Crown to set aside a portion of the eastern Brecilian Forest for the Dalish to settle as they see fit. The Grey Wardens will deliver the proposal and an invitation to Keeper Lanaya of the Dalish when they travel to their camp in the western Brecilian Forest at the conclusion of this Landsmeet."

Lhiannon heard Loghain scoff quietly beside her as the King paused in his speech. "So, we are to be glorified messengers?"

"Well, we _were_ going there anyway," Lhiannon said, shrugging her armored shoulders slightly. "Saves him the cost of hiring a courier."

A low cacophony of voices filled the hall at the King's pronouncement, heads coming together as neighbor talked to neighbor. Alistair returned to his chair next to Anora, watching the gathered nobility as they discussed the proclamation.

Alistair motioned to a hand that rose from the sea of nobility to be acknowledged. A middle aged woman from a holding in the Bannorn moved into the aisle, bowing slightly to the King and Queen before she spoke. "What of the rumors that the forest is haunted? Won't they be offended to be given land that is overrun with the angry dead?"

"There are dangers to the forest, that is true, but there are dangers spread throughout Ferelden," Alistair said, turning his gaze toward Lhiannon. "However, the Warden Commander and I worked with the Dalish during the Blight to remove some of those threats. Commander, would you care to add something?"

Lhiannon moved from Loghain's side to the main aisle, her attention falling to the woman that stood in the aisle. "During the Blight, King Alistair and I aided the Dalish in the Brecilian Forest, purging the area of demons and other entities." _Entities that one of their own created,_ Lhiannon snorted to herself, thinking back on Zathrian and the curse he perpetuated. "The Dalish have lived in the forest for a long time; they know the dangers that lurk there and have thrived despite them."

"And what of the city elves," the bann asked, "the alienages? Will the elves still live in alienages or will they be taken to their new lands?"

"Those that wish to remain in the cities may do so," Anora said, nodding to the bann. "Those that wish to join their brethren in the forest may do so as well. It is our intention to allow the elves to pass freely between the alienages and the Brecilian Forest."

Bann Sighard stepped forward to be recognized by the Crown. "I wish to speak my piece, since the Dalish will be my neighbors." Sighard walked the main aisle, his voice easily carrying to the corners of the hall as he spoke. "My compatriots, I witnessed the Dalish fight during the battle in Denerim. Though they were not from the city, they fought as if they were defending their own people. In some cases, they were but for the vast majority of the battle, they fought for _us; _for humans. I, for one, was impressed by their tenacity. They brought honor to themselves during the battle and I was humbled and privileged to fight at their side."

"My men also spoke of the bravery of the Dalish," Bann Alfstanna said, stepping forward to speak to the gathering. "Many of them had only heard tales of the prowess of Dalish archers; fewer still had ever seen any in action. The lieutenant in charge of my army was greatly impressed by the Dalish. If nothing else, establishing formal relations with the Dalish and giving them land of their own should keep them from trespassing on the lands of others."

"Their Keeper, Lanaya, is an honorable woman," Lhiannon said as she stepped forward once more, nodding a greeting to Sighard as he resumed his seat. "I am quite certain Keeper Lanaya will be pleased with and encouraged by this gesture of friendship. Let us not be fooled, however; there are many among the Dalish that do not trust humans because of past transgressions. Rebuilding formal relations will take time, but I believe Keeper Lanaya is the best hope for normalizing relations between Ferelden and the Dalish. They fulfilled their obligations to the Grey Wardens with valor and honor and they deserve high praise for such."

"But will they demand representation in Denerim?" a voice cried out. "We _are_ talking _elves_ here." A murmur went through those gathered, both voice of support and dismissal echoing through the chamber. Anora held up a hand for peace, waiting until silence reigned before speaking.

"In time, perhaps they would like a representative in Denerim. An ambassador, if you will. That will have to be discussed with the Keeper when she comes to Denerim."

"She will also need to discuss this with the other Keepers during their next _Arlathvhen,_" Lhiannon said, looking toward the voice that had cried out in protest. "That meeting happens once every decade or so but given this outreach, the Dalish may gather sooner than that. At any rate, it will take time for the word to spread to the other clans and the meeting to take place."

"In the interim, if Keeper Lanaya wishes to have an unofficial liaison here in Denerim, the Crown would not be opposed to it," Anora said.

As Lhiannon moved back to her place next to Loghain, the Grand Cleric stepped forward, turning to face the King and Queen. "And what of their heathen religion? Sacrifices to their gods? You would allow such blasphemies to occur in the land of Andraste's birth?"

"Not all elves worship the Dalish gods, Your Grace," Alistair said, raising a brow to the Grand Cleric. "Most of the alienage elves believe in and worship the Maker. Perhaps the city elves can bring the Maker's word to the Dalish."

"I will certainly pray for such, for the Chant must be sung from all corners of the world for the Maker to return to his children."

"The templars can bring the word," Deiniol said, his voice a low snarl.

"The Dalish will be free to worship what gods they will, as all races are," Anora said, folding her hands on her lap and favoring the templar with a stern glare. "Requiring they convert to Andrastianism is _not_ part of this proposal. They must choose to come to the Maker of their own accord; we cannot force them. Let this be a new era of peace and cooperation with our honorable Dalish neighbors."

Polite clapping and even some shouts of agreement echoed through the Landsmeet chamber. Alistair turned and shared a knowing look with Anora. He leaned in close, his lips brushing up against the shell of Anora's ear. "It is good to see that some reason has prevailed here."

"Which is precisely why we needed to mention the Blight," Anora said in a low whisper. "We won't be able to use that to as an advantage for much longer; best to wield it now while we can."

Bann Alfstanna raised her hand once more, begging for the attention of the King and Queen. Anora acknowledged the Bann. "You have something further to add, Bann Alfstanna?"

"I do, Your Majesty. I know this isn't quite on subject, but since we are discussing the Grey Wardens, I thought I would bring the subject to the floor so that we could have a quick discussion of it."

Lhiannon shared a glance with Loghain. Though his face was a mask of impassiveness, she could feel his curiosity regarding the Bann that stood before them. What could she have to say about their order that had not already been said at one point? Loghain was curious about whatever it was Alfstanna wanted to say. The Bann supported the Grey Wardens at the last Landsmeet, openly opposing Loghain's regency and pledging the support of her armies against the darkspawn. Would she continue to support them or did she have another agenda?

"The Waking Sea bannorn would like to know how the Grey Wardens intend to protect Ferelden from the remaining bands of darkspawn that still raid our lands." Alfstanna took a step closer to Lhiannon, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. "The bands of darkspawn are not large, nor are they particularly organized, but they still make occasional raids on our lands. With all due respect, Warden Commander, you cannot have all the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine. If the darkspawn were to boil from the earth in the Waking Sea bannorn in force, we could be decimated before we could even get word to your order. Waking Sea would be a graveyard by the time the Wardens arrived." She pounded a leather armored fist into the palm of her other hand. "I _will not_ allow my people to continue to be threatened by the darkspawn. The Grey Wardens _must_ be able to respond quickly to any future threats."

Several shouts of agreement were heard among those in the gallery, all looking toward Lhiannon for her response. Her stomach began to twist into knots again under the scrutiny of her fellow noblemen. Alfstanna was right; the protection of the people from darkspawn raids was part of her duty as a Grey Warden. Having Wardens stationed throughout Ferelden was a goal she was looking to see accomplished.

"I happen to agree with you, Bann Alfstanna," Lhiannon said, nodding once in agreement. "While the Grey Wardens are here in Denerim, I intend to visit the alienage and speak with Hahren Valendrian regarding our order; he was a close friend of the Warden that conscripted me and I am sure he would be most receptive to our request for recruits. Second Loghain, with the King's kind permission, will be searching for recruits at Fort Drakon."

"Then put out a call for recruits, Warden Commander," Bann Ceorlic added from his place in the gallery. "I'm sure there are many capable people ready and willing to serve under the flag of the Hero of Ferelden."

Alistair stood from his throne, walking forward to stand near his fellow Grey Wardens. He thought about his response as he moved, not wanting to come right out and remind the assembly that the Joining was often fatal. Anora had mentioned the lethality of the Joining at the last Landsmeet, but she had been tactful enough to not shout it from the rooftops. Only a few onlookers had heard her question and thankfully, they were not speaking out.

"It is not that simple, Ceorlic," Loghain said, his icy gaze falling on the portly bann; Ceorlic blanched, which gave Loghain a degree of smug satisfaction. "Being a Grey Warden is a calling; it is _not_ for everyone. It is extremely dangerous work but it _is_ vital."

Alistair nodded from where he stood. "The Grey Wardens will need all the help and support we can muster."

"It _is_ my intention to have Grey Wardens stationed throughout Ferelden in the future," Lhiannon said, moving her gaze between Alfstanna, Ceorlic, and Alistair. She had a very good idea as to where Alistair was headed with his train of thought, but best to have those of the Bannorn make the suggestion themselves. Lhiannon hoped there would be less resistance if one of their own suggested a plan. She may not know much about the nobles of the Bannorn, but she _did _know how fickle they could be; after all, there had been war over an apple tree in the past.

Alfstanna turned, gesturing to the nobles around her. "Then let us welcome the Grey Wardens into our lands. Let us ask some of our own to join them." The Bann moved across the chamber to stand in front of Lhiannon, crossing her arms over her chest and bowing slightly. "I would be honored if you would accept men and women from Waking Sea into the ranks of the Grey Wardens."

"The Grey Wardens will remain in Denerim for the next few days," Lhiannon said, returning the Bann's bow. "If you have men and women willing to join our cause, send them to our compound here in the palace district. While we will not be able to accept everyone, those that we wish to evaluate further shall be sent to Vigil's Keep." Lhiannon hoped that her acceptance and the caveats given by her and Loghain were enough to satisfy the curiosity of the nobility without having to dance around explaining that those who were put forward for the Joining were in mortal danger.

It was quiet in the Landsmeet chamber for several minutes after Lhiannon and Alfstanna spoke; those who had come out into the aisle returned to their places. From the dais, Alistair and Anora looked out over their vassals, studying faces as they gathered their thoughts for the next proclamation they were about to make. This proclamation had the potential to be far more contentious than the Dalish proposal had been; truth be told, Anora thought there would have been far more arguments about the Dalish than actually came forward . She was unsure if she should be pleased that the proposal was met with as little resistance as it had been, or concerned that there would be issues in the future. Perhaps Alistair's words about the bravery of the Dalish during the battle of Denerim carried more weight and swayed more opinions than she had dared hope. Her father said once that King Maric could inspire such devotion in his followers that they would gladly lay down their lives for him; perhaps Alistair had more of his father in him than she thought.

Alistair reached over and grasped her hand as if seeking to gather strength from her touch. Anora turned her gaze to her husband, giving him a small smile and nod of encouragement. "This is where the trouble begins; Maker help us."

"I know," Alistair said, his lips pursing in thought. He rose from his chair on the dais, stepping to the edge and gazing out over the nobility once more. He took a deep breath, seeking to project confidence in his words in stance. He knew what he was about to proclaim would be met with both acceptance and vehement resistance.

"I would now like to speak of our allies from the Circle of Magi." Alistair held a hand out to indicate those that came from the Circle. "Joining us today is a delegation from Kinloch Hold, who came at the invitation of the Crown to attend these proceedings." Alistair paused, nodding a greeting to the mages and templars from the Circle. "Not only is our Hero of Ferelden a mage trained by this very Circle, but those of the Circle also fought at our side as allies during the battle of Denerim. It was their magic that protected us… their magic that healed us. They used their abilities to decimate the darkspawn ranks and weaken the archdemon so that the Grey Wardens could destroy the creature. Their help was _vital_ in defeating the Blight."

Alistair moved toward the central aisle of the chamber. "During the struggle against the Blight, many of you witnessed mages from the Circle heal the injured on the battlefield. They protected you with their spells of strength and fortitude and cut down multitudes of darkspawn so that our armies could advance. Like the elves, the mages of the Circle should be recognized and rewarded for their steadfast bravery."

As Alistair spoke, a feeling of both anticipation and dread settled into Lhiannon's stomach. Were her hands not encased in the armor of her gauntlets, she would have been wringing them together in her apprehension. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loghain turn his head to look at her, his brows lowering as he sensed her growing tension.

Loghain lowered his lips to Lhiannon's ear, his breath brushing up against her skin. "What is it?" Loghain asked, his voice a low whisper.

"He's going to do it. Oh Maker, Alistair, I hope you know what you're doing…"

"He's going to do what?"

Lhiannon prepared to answer, drawing breath to whisper back into Loghain's ear what her suspicion was. Before she could give voice to her thought, Alistair did it for her.

"The Crown of Ferelden grants limited autonomy and independence to the mages currently within the bounds of the Ferelden Circle of Magi."

Lhiannon closed her eyes and grimaced as an uproar of voices filled the Landsmeet chamber. Questions were shouted out; each one louder than the last as speakers strove to be heard over their colleagues. The palace chamberlain banged his staff on the floor repeatedly and called out for order; she heard Alistair likewise call out for peace. Opening her eyes, Lhiannon saw that the Grand Cleric had come forward to stand before the King. Ser Hadley waved off Deiniol and Cullen before he moved to the Grand Cleric's side.

"Your Majesty, the Divine will never approve of this pronouncement," the Grand Cleric stated. "Without Chantry oversight, there are mages that will seek to wield political power. Remember the words of Chant of Light: _magic must serve and never rule._"

Cullen moved forward to stand next to the Grand Cleric, ignoring the request of Ser Hadley to stand back. "Your Majesty, you _saw_ what happened at Kinloch Hold when Uldred used blood magic to usurp power. Without Chantry oversight, the populace would be threatened if even one mage turns their power against them. Who will protect the mages from themselves? They cannot be trusted with their power and if even one goes astray, that is one too many."

Ser Hadley held up a hand, staying the arguments of both Cullen and the Grand Cleric before speaking to the King. "Your Majesty, I must ask for clarification on this proclamation. What do you mean by 'limited autonomy and independence'?"

Lhiannon found herself wondering the same thing, especially given the vociferous reaction in the Landsmeet chamber. When she defeated the archdemon, Anora had asked if there was a boon she could grant to the Hero of Ferelden—any boon at all. She had given it a very brief thought before telling Anora that she did not wish for a boon at the time; her only concern was rebuilding the Grey Wardens. Her thought, albeit brief, was to ask for some sort of freedom for the mages of the Circle. What would have happened had she asked for that boon immediately after Urthemiel's fall?

"Of course, Ser Hadley," Alistair said, nodding to the templar. "It was Knight Commander Serain himself that said it was the Maker's will that men be given the power to take responsibility for their own actions; to sin and fail, as well as achieve our highest grace and glory with our strength. That each Circle tower must have some form of self-government."

"But it is the templars who are charged with protecting the Circle, from themselves as well as from others," Hadley countered. "It was also Knight Commander Serain's belief that idleness and inexperience are the most dangerous elements for newly Harrowed mages that have not taken apprentices."

Lhiannon watched as Ines stepped forward to stand next to Ser Hadley. "Your Majesty, Ser Hadley has a point. Boredom among the mages can be a problem, especially right after the Harrowing. They are full mages of the Circle, but many are still young adults easily driven to distraction. They should be given assignments immediately, whether in the tower or with other mages in the field already. Keeping the youth busy will keep them out of trouble."

"I think the Crown's plan will help to keep the new mages busy as well as offer a degree of autonomy and independence," Alistair said, his gaze moving between the templars and mages before him. "There are already Formari compounds in the major cities of Ferelden: Redcliffe, Denerim, Gwaren, Highever, South Reach, and even Kinloch Hold itself. The Circle can establish one compound at a Formari outpost for the education of mages with limited templar oversight. The Free Marches have two Circles within their borders so there is a precedent for such things. Kinloch Hold would be the ultimate authority for mages and well as the only location where Harrowings will take place. A council will serve as an advisory panel for the outpost, consisting of the First Enchanter, the Revered Mother of the local Chantry, the Knight Commander assigned to the outpost, the ruling noble, and a representative from the community at large. The mages will be allowed to make their own decisions and choose their own path with the advisory council acting in just that capacity: advisors."

"And what if another Uldred comes forward and finds allies at this 'compound'?" Cullen asked. "We could have an army of blood mages on the loose! They could marshal their resources; blood mages and abominations..."

The murmurs filling the hall continued, a low undercurrent of fear and concern palpable in the air. Lhiannon felt her stomach twist into knots once more. She felt Loghain's apprehension and Alistair's conviction through their tainted blood. Glancing to her side, she saw Eamon and Murdock whispering to each other, their eyes moving between her and the party at the dais. _Will he come forward to protest this? Will he bide his time?_ She did not have to wait long, for Eamon came forward to stand near the Grand Cleric moments later.

"Your Majesty, permit me to speak," Eamon said, not waiting for permission before continuing. "It was the power of Andraste's Sacred Ashes and the Maker's will that saved me from the foul poison meant to do me harm. When I awoke, I saw the world in a new light and reaffirmed my faith in Andraste and the Maker in thanksgiving." He turned and looked at the Grand Cleric, giving her a reverent nod before continuing. "Ferelden was tested by the Blight; the Maker desiring to see our faith grow stronger during the struggle. We failed that test and because of that failure, Amaranthine was attacked as both a sign and punishment. The Crown has violated the most basic of the Maker's laws...magic should serve and never rule. We need to right this wrong. Only by reaffirming our faith in the Maker and His bride can we set ourselves on the right path once more." Eamon paused briefly, his eyes downcast and sad before continuing. "I know now that my son was cursed with magic because of my weak faith."

An incredulous voice called out from within the gallery. "You say the Maker unleashed the Blight upon us? Why would He do that? Why would he not help us?"

"Perhaps He did help us by sending the Grey Wardens," a second voice cried out. "They were the ones that destroyed the archdemon, not the Chantry or the Maker!"

"Blasphemy!"

Voices rose within the chamber once again, the cacophony echoing against the walls and nearly drowning out the sound of the chamberlain thumping his staff for order once more. Loghain watched the arguing with thinly veiled contempt. Always the Landsmeets degenerated into yelling matches. Granted, what the Crown was proposing was an explosive idea. While Loghain's views on mages and magic changed since the last fateful Landsmeet, he did not think it wise to completely free the mages of the Circle. There _was_ the potential for abuse; Lhiannon was obviously thinking the same thing to a degree. He turned to look down at her, seeing the grimace of anxiety on her face.

Loghain lowered his lips to Lhiannon's ear, sensing the roiling of the taint within her. "What is it?"

With a sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. Loghain saw the shine of tears there; he could feel her fighting to keep them from falling. "As much as I want to see the mages freed from the yoke of the Chantry, perhaps Alistair is moving too fast." She snorted a single laugh, but Loghain could tell there was no humor there. "Anders and the Libertarians would likely say Alistair isn't moving fast enough. But I don't know which is the best path; should the mages push for a clean break from the Chantry? Should we show the populace that mages, for the most part, aren't dangerous and try to get them on our side? Should we just stay under the Chantry's dominion and hope for the best?"

Loghain found that he did not have a good answer for her. Each of the options presented had both benefits and drawbacks. Any attempt at compromise would be a difficult road to travel. Outright freeing the mages would drive a wedge between both groups and widen the chasm that already existed; the populace would likely be caught in the middle and forced to choose sides. Keeping the mages under the Chantry's dominion could vary widely, depending on how paranoid the upper echelon of the priests and templars could be. The mages could have significant freedoms under one administration while the next wave of Andrastians could subjugate them pitilessly.

The shouts and arguments continued amongst those in the chamber, divided between supporting the Crown's proclamation and fear for what would happen if it did come to fruition. Fergus Cousland stepped forward at one point, appealing for calm amongst the chamber. "While I do harbor some trepidation regarding this proposal, I will support the establishment of a second Circle tower in Highever if adequate precautions are taken. I understand that most mages simply want to develop their abilities, but there are always those that wish to use their power for their own benefit. I would insist there be an adequate force of templars stationed within Highever to contain any mages that may go rogue, not to mention adequate measures to secure the compound itself."

"Making the compound a prison isn't what autonomy means," Aneirin said, his voice calm amidst the cacophony of voices.

"If the apprentices and mages are allowed to go about their business with limited Chantry oversight, could hardly be called a prison," Fergus said, countering Aneirin's argument.

"But it is hardly autonomy."

"His Majesty said _limited_ independence and autonomy," Fergus said.

"This is completely unacceptable," Deiniol said, his voice a deep roar above those around him. Conversations fell quiet at the templar's deep anger. He turned toward the Grand Cleric next to him, bowing his head reverently. "Your Grace, say the word. Excommunicate those who support this blasphemous institution: priest, mage, templar, and commoner alike. Allow the templars to march against and annul this compound if it dares to rise."

Lhiannon stepped forward, unable to hold her tongue any longer. "I hardly think such extreme measures are necessary. There must be some common ground between us; some way both our groups can have the best of both worlds."

Deiniol gave Lhiannon a snarl, which brought Loghain to her side in a few long strides. He stood half a step in front of her, shielding her from the angry templar. Loghain could sense the growing tide of Lhiannon's annoyance, focused solely on the strange templar. Clearly, the man was as zealous in his belief as the man that tried to kill Lhiannon in the streets of Vigil's Keep not long ago. The thought of her lying in the dirt street, her life blood running out of her served to stoke Loghain's own anger.

"That is enough!"

Heads turned to regard Queen Anora as she moved forward to stand next to King Alistair, her cheeks stained a bring pink and her icy blue eyes flashing with anger. She turned to where the delegations from Kinloch Hold and the Chantry stood staring each other down. Cullen had moved to stand away from his Circle colleagues; not standing with Deiniol or Tavish, but not far away either.

"Ser Hadley, you and the delegation from the Circle of Magi are to return to Kinloch Hold after this Landsmeet with a decree from the Crown to set forth plans for establishing a second Circle within the Teyrnir of Highever. These plans are to include the criteria for mages to study there, who will be in charge, and their service records to the Circle of Magi. Only mages of the highest standing in the Circle will be allowed to oversee and govern this new tower. You will have two months to submit such a plan to the Crown."

Anora then turned her cool glare to the Grand Cleric and those flanking her. "You, Your Grace, are to determine which Knight Commander would be best suited to oversee the templars that Teyrn Fergus has insisted be stationed in Highever. You are to pick templars with the best service records and submit those names and plans to the Crown within two months as well. You are not to place an entire army there; use a similar number of templars that are currently stationed at Kinloch Hold.

"I expect both the Circle and the Chantry to include plans for securing this tower, both to keep the mages and the general populace safe." She turned her gaze between both groups, the coolness of her voice dropping a notch. "Do not think that delaying these strategies will postpone the implementation of these plans. Should you not have plans submitted to the Crown in two months, the Crown and the Teyrn of Highever will make those determinations.

"As for the rest of you, anyone wishing to protest either of these proclamations can submit your own written grievance within two months as well. The Crown will take all of these items under advisement before moving forward."

Turning toward the Chamberlain, she nodded curtly and held her hand out for Alistair. The chamberlain thumped his staff on the floor three times, calling an end to the day's proceedings and beckoning all to return the following morning when the cathedral's bells tolled nine times.

* * *

_I apologize for the eon that passed between updates. My muse lost the spark to write this story for a couple of very long weeks. This chapter as well as two others went under some significant rewrites once my muse found her voice for "Retribution" again. I edited out a few plot points in previous chapters because although we all wave a magic wand when writing fan fiction, the wand was getting a little big and a little out of hand. Thanks again to Gene, Shakespira, and Tyanilth for helping me out._

_I don't like the length of this chapter, but I really can't split it based on the events of the next chapter._

_There were several codex entries out on the Wiki that gave me ideas for this chapter. Some also have background information for certain scenes or people._

_The codex entry on Aneirin mentions that Wynne told him Irving could find a way for Aneirin to come back to the Circle; Aneirin admits he liked Irving and that he would consider Wynne's offer. That's where I got the idea to have him return to the Circle._

_Ser Hadley is from the "Witch Hunt" DLC; Ines is from "Awakening."_

_The Origins epilogue has a few things going on regarding the Dalish. If Lanaya becomes Keeper, she will be instrumental at keeping the peace between the Dalish and humans, not that keeping the peace will be easy. Also, the elves could be given lands near Ostagar if they fought with Ferelden against the Blight. I thought the elves may prefer the cover of the Brecilian Forest rather than the open lands near Ostagar; the elves are in the forest anyway and know how to deal with the dangers there. And if the humans believe the forest haunted (whether it is or not), then they can use that to their advantage as well._

_The mage Rigana is from my in-progress story "Revelations."_

_Alistair's and Hadley's arguments are inspired by the codex entry "Hierarchy of the Circle."_

_The Wiki entry on "Circle of Magi" says that the Circles tend to be located in remote and difficult to reach areas, but that the Formari have outposts in the major cities for trading purposes. I thought since the Formari are already based in the major cities, it gives the Circle a base of operations to spread out a bit. I know several of you are also having your mages spread out around Ferelden and that we've discussed such things a bit. I thought I'd use the Formari compounds, ruling councils, and the example of multiple Circles in the Free Marches in this story to differentiate mine slightly. Whether the Chantry or nobility will really put their foot down regarding the Crown's plans remains to be seen._

_Some housekeeping: I wrote a one-shot for a Cheeky Monkey challenge called "Kittie" and drew an accompanying sketch. I've also updated "Revelations." I drew a piece of fan art for my friend Tyanilth called "I Do Not Let Go" (it's Loghain and Muirnara from her story "The Art of War"). If you haven't read Tyanilth's stories, go check them out! I also sketched Loghain overlooking the harbor where Maric set sail on his last voyage (called "Walk Alone"). All of my sketches are out on my deviantART page, ht tp:/ josielange .deviantart .com/. I also have a beta coming on board for "Retribution" in the not too distant future; she needs to finish her own story first. I can't wait to collaborate with her! :)_

_Huge hugs and many thanks to reviewers xseikax, cloud1004, Shakespira, Ventisquear, JackOfBladesX, Aura of Darkness Night, Enaid Aderyn, Arsinoe, Gene, Dante Alighieri, Darkchubb, Tyanilth, Wyl, Jesse Long, and naomis8329._

_Thanks to all you readers. I apologize for the delay in updating and will try to not do that again. Feel free to crack the whip at my muse. :)_


	43. Anticipation

_A/N: a little bit of filler here; sorry about that. I don't really like writing filler chapters, but it helps to start building up for the next phase of the story. I made the last part a bit NSFW if that helps... :p  
_

* * *

Raelyn paced the small area between the settee and fireplace within the outer room of the palace apartment, wringing her hands together in apprehension. Nearby, Anders sat in a small chair with a book of Ferelden history on one knee and a sleeping Ser Pounce on the other. Teagan sat in a nearby chair, dozing lightly and oblivious of Raelyn's nervousness. Anders had no such luxury; the Warden mage could feel her agitation clearly through their tainted blood. Anders tried to block Raelyn's nervousness and finger through the pages of the book, but her incessant pacing was beginning to make _him_ nervous. If Ser Pounce sensed it, he was either not fazed by it or could not care less. Anders thought it was the latter of the two. After several moments of unsuccessfully trying to read, Anders scoffed and placed the book on the table next to him, gently lifting Ser Pounce from his leg. The tabby ceased his purring for a moment as Anders adjusted his hold on the cat but once settled in Anders' arms, Ser Pounce began to purr once more.

"Raelyn, come here and sit down."

The nervous mage nearly jumped out of her skin, startled out of her thoughts by Anders' quiet voice. Teagan merely shifted in his chair and resumed his soft snoring. With a rustle of robes, Raelyn turned toward Anders and where he pointed to the chair he had just vacated.

"Anders, I can't sit. I'm too nervous to sit still."

"Don't argue with me, love. Just come sit."

"I said I _can't_, Anders," Raelyn said, her arms wrapping around her chest to hug herself. "I'm just too fidgety."

"Humor me then."

With an exasperated sigh, Raelyn walked past Anders and plopped down into the warm chair, her motions exaggerated as she sat. Before she could say anything in protest, Anders set the warm, furry form of Ser Pounce onto Raelyn's lap. The tabby looked at Raelyn before turning his green eyes toward Anders.

"Show Raelyn that you're not just a vicious attack kitten, Ser Pounce."

Ser Pounce looked up at Raelyn with his head cocked to the side, studying her for a moment before resting his two front paws on the arm of the chair and hacking up a hairball on the table next to her.

"That's just disgusting, Anders."

Anders scoffed, a light chuckle quickly following as he reached over and scratched Ser Pounce's head. The cat began to purr once more, settling back onto Raelyn's lap and curling up into a ball. "He likes you, Raelyn. Usually he hacks them up _on_ you if he doesn't like you."

"So, a hairball is his way of saying 'Hi, my name is Ser Pounce. Let's be friends?'"

"You could say that," Anders said, settling onto the floor at Raelyn's feet. He rested his head against her knees as her fingers began to stroke Ser Pounce's fur. Anders moved his hand up under the hem of her robe, gently stroking her leg and listening to the steady purr of Ser Pounce. As Raelyn's fingers continued to pet Ser Pounce, Anders could feel some of her nervousness and agitation fade, which was exactly the reason why he plopped Ser Pounce on her lap to begin with.

"I hate this," Raelyn said, her voice low as to not disturb either the napping cat or napping friend. "The last place I want to go is into a nest of squabbling fussbudgets to be interrogated and humiliated."

A soft sigh blew through Anders' nose. Raelyn and Teagan would likely face a firestorm of questions from the Landsmeet, some of which were bound to be uncomfortable. The story of their ordeal _had_ to be told, no matter how disconcerting it would be for both of them. The over-zealousness of the Chantry had to be exposed and Anders felt there would likely be no better opportunity than that presented by a Landsmeet.

"But they need you there," Anders said, his hand still running along Raelyn's leg. She wore a pair of leggings under her robe, tight enough so that they were like a second skin. Anders could feel the tension in her muscles as he ran his fingers over her. She was tightly wound and ready to snap. "I don't meant to sound unsympathetic, but you can't ignore this. You can't run from this or wish that it would simply go away."

Raelyn sighed, the sound both resigned and sad. "I know. They need Teagan and me there to offer testimony as to our… detention. The Commander and Loghain are going to walk through that door any time now, and then…" The mage paused, her stomach becoming a yawning pit that threatened to swallow her whole. "I don't want to see _them_ again," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Anders could both hear and sense the dread that wormed through her. He could see the pinched look on her face and saw how her hands trembled slightly once they stopped petting Ser Pounce. Turning his body to face her, Anders knelt before her, resting his forearms on her legs and bracketing Ser Pounce in place. The tabby opened one eye to look at his master before closing it again, his small paws beginning to knead the fabric of Raelyn's robe. Anders watched, mesmerized, as Ser Pounce's claws slowly and methodically extended and retracted.

When Raelyn spoke again, her voice was so low Anders had trouble hearing it despite his close proximity. "I'm so afraid, Anders."

Anders brought his gaze up to see Raelyn looking down into her lap to where Ser Pounce lay. She squeezed her eyes shut as her breath hitched in her chest, a single tear escaping her eye to roll down her cheek. Reaching up, Anders lightly brushed her tear away before he rested his hand on her cheek. She turned into his touch, a sob breaking through her chest.

As if sensing his master wanted to comfort this new female, Ser Pounce unrolled himself from the ball he had curled himself into, leaping across the small table and into a chair on the other side. Once settled, Ser Pounce cracked an eye open and saw his master switching positions with his female, sitting in the chair and drawing her onto his lap. He could hardly blame the female for wanting to sit on his master's lap; it was a warm and comfortable place, perhaps his favorite spot in which to curl up and take a brief nap. Not that he would indicate such a thing to his master though; Ser Pounce had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Raelyn sat across Anders' lap, her head resting on his shoulder and arms around his neck. His arms held her tightly, almost possessively. "I know you're afraid, Rae; I would be too. If I had my way, I would make sure you never had to see those templars or that sorry excuse for an arl again." His voice dropped a level as he spoke, his teeth clenched in anger. "I would take those damned templars and hurt them as much as they hurt you. Maybe making sure _they_ were bound, silenced with a spiked bridle, and denied their precious lyrium would make them understand."

Raelyn sniffled, quickly followed by a small scoff. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish that upon them myself. Maybe throw in a crushing prison spell for good measure."

Anders hugged Raelyn a little tighter, turning to drop a small kiss onto her head. "That's the spirit."

With a small sniffle, Raelyn brushed a hand over her face, wiping away the tears that had ran down her cheeks. "I'm scared, but part of me just wants the Commander or her messenger to arrive and summon us just to get this over with. I want to make this trip to Denerim nothing more than a bad memory as soon as I can."

"As do I, Raelyn."

They sat in comfortable silence for several moments, Anders breathing a silent sigh of relief as he felt the taint within Raelyn drift toward sleep. With a low whisper, he nudged her sleep along with the smallest of sleeping spells, hoping the small reprieve would bolster her spirits. Her breaths lengthened and her arms became somewhat slack around his neck. He turned to place a light kiss on her head, shifting slightly in the chair so that he could tip his head back. Anders closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Raelyn's hair and the soap she used that morning.

Ser Pounce lifted his head from where he rested, looking to where his master sat with his female. The tabby sensed both of them sleeping, which was unusual when the large light was in the sky and everything could be easily seen. Ser Pounce often slept when the sky was lit as he liked to prowl about in the darkness, looking for tasty morsels running through the halls of the new places his master took him. Since his master was sleeping, it was up to him to make sure they were safe. Ser Pounce stretched and yawned, making sure his sharp teeth and vicious claws were on full display in case anything was watching. He sat up straight, prepared to watch over his master while he slept with his female snuggled into his arms.

He would let the female use his master's lap. For now.

* * *

The small snick of a key in the lock bought Anders out of his light doze. Opening his eyes, he blinked rapidly as he watched Lhiannon and Loghain enter the outer chambers of the apartments, their voices dropping as they saw the napping Raelyn on Anders' lap and Teagan napping in a chair with a book resting on his legs. Where Lhiannon giggled lightly into the leather palm of her gauntlet at seeing everyone napping, Loghain merely rolled his eyes. Anders shifted slightly to wave at his commanders, the movement causing Raelyn to stir. She opened her bleary eyes, giving Anders a small smile before she yawned and stretched.

It was not long before everyone was awake and anxiously awaiting word on the Landsmeet. Lhiannon watched as three sets of eyes turned toward her and Loghain, no doubt curious as to the events of the day. They watched her as she crossed the outer room, standing near the fireplace and resting a hand on the mantle. Loghain stood near the door as if guarding against intruders, his penetrating gaze falling upon the others in the room.

"I take it the Landsmeet is going slowly," Teagan said, closing the book on his lap and setting it on the small table beside him. "Since Raelyn and I have not been summoned, I assume that Eamon has not been brought before the gallery yet."

Raelyn blanched slightly; she was anxious to make this trip away from Vigil's Keep nothing more than a bad memory as soon as possible. Her stomach began to flutter nervously as she wrung her hands together. "It's going slower than you anticipated, isn't it?" _Andraste's ass, I'd rather be fighting the darkspawn again than spend another day here._

"Unfortunately, it is," Lhiannon said, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "It was a bit contentious this afternoon. The Crown called a halt to the proceedings before things could deteriorate further."

Loghain snorted from his place near the door. "Were it left to me, I wouldn't have allowed anyone to leave until matters were settled once and for all."

Lhiannon turned her attention to Loghain, an eyebrow cocked skyward. "Lock everyone in the chamber until they come to some sort of consensus?"

With a scoff, Loghain crossed his arms over his chest. "It would serve as incentive to come to a conclusion."

"That would mean _you_ would be locked in there with me, as you are not only my Second, but Arl of Amaranthine."

One of Loghain's dark brows lifted. "It would serve as incentive to come to a conclusion."

"What happened there today?" Teagan asked, his gaze moving from Lhiannon to Loghain. "It is strange to be in Denerim with a Landsmeet in progress and not be in the chamber. I'm feeling quite useless."

"You are missing little, Teagan," Loghain said with a snort. "The years change, but the squabbling and groveling stay much the same." He began to explain the day's events, with Lhiannon interjecting her perspective as he spoke. As Loghain continued to tell the day's tale, Lhiannon watched Anders' face darken significantly at the reaction of the Chantry regarding Alistair's proclamation of limited autonomy for the mages. As Lhiannon spoke of the templar Deiniol's suggestion of excommunication for anyone following the proclamation, Anders snorted loudly and pounded his fist on the arm of the chair in which he sat.

"Excommunication!" he said, his voice carrying an indignant tone. "You know that by 'excommunication' they mean 'exalted march!' That is what Tavish did with the Mages' Collective! All those mages wanted to do was live their lives free from Chantry domination and they were exterminated by Tavish and his narrow-minded cronies! And the Chantry stood by and did nothing about it!"

"Nothing has been implemented yet, Anders," Lhiannon said, holding her hand up in an appeal for calm. "The mages and the Chantry are to submit plans to the Crown for the setup of this new Circle in Highever."

Anders scoffed derisively. "More delays. If the Chantry had their way, all the mages would have been shipped off to Alamar ages ago so that we can be away from the _normal_ people and have the raiders at Brandel's Reach pick us off and save them the trouble."

Loghain looked ready to retort when Lhiannon held a hand up, stilling the arguments in the room. "At any rate, nothing is being implemented today so there's no sense in getting all worked up about it." She looked out the window for a moment before looking to Loghain, effectively ending the conversation. "How many hours of daylight do you suppose are left? Three?"

"At most," Loghain said, confirming Lhiannon's suspicions. "Why do you ask?"

"Might as well use it," Lhiannon said, moving away from the fireplace and turning toward the bedchamber she shared with Loghain. "We need to procure supplies for the trip to the Brecilian Forest. I may as well go place my orders with the vendors in the marketplace while we have a few hours left today. I don't want to have to wait around after the Landsmeet for my orders because I didn't place them in a timely manner." She moved toward the door of the bedchamber, Loghain a few steps behind. She heard Anders call out for Ser Pounce and say goodbye to Raelyn and Teagan, saying that he needed to see to his duties at the Grey Warden compound.

"Take Maverlies and Joanna with you to the marketplace," Loghain said, closing the door behind them as they entered the bedchamber. "I'll not have you wander the streets of Denerim by yourself." As Lhiannon turned to regard him, she saw a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "After all, there are bandits roaming the streets. Why, they even prey on templars bringing prisoners to the grand cathedral."

Lhiannon found herself grinning in return. She knew that Loghain meant well, seeing to her protection while she was in Denerim. Even with the increased patrols of the city guard while the Landsmeet was in session, the streets were not completely safe and she would be a fool to believe otherwise. While the sloppy thugs were easily apprehended, the craftier ones were still on the streets, seeking quick coin from the nobility as they went about their business. Safety could be found in numbers.

"I wouldn't dream of traveling by myself, Loghain. I have no wish to argue with you further on that subject." Lhiannon stopped before her armor stand, debating about wearing more nondescript leather armor on her errands rather than her heavier armor bearing the conspicuous double griffon. She heard Loghain snort behind her, clearly not wishing for her to leave in anything less than her heaviest armor. It was a quiet point he had made and one Lhiannon was not willing to counter at the moment.

Turning to face Loghain, Lhiannon gave him a small smile. "And what will _you_ be doing while I am gone?"

"I will likewise procure supplies for our trip from Fort Drakon: polishes and repair supplies, perhaps a few spare sets of armor and blades." Loghain crossed the distance between them, pulling his armored gauntlets off and tossing them on the bed as he passed. He quickly reached out, his hand settling on the back of Lhiannon's neck before pulling her roughly to him. The gasp of surprise she gave him was quickly followed by a low growl deep in her throat, causing Loghain's blood to thrum with anticipation. Bending over her, his lips ghosted along the skin of her neck above her armor, traveling up to her ear and pinching the flesh above her golden earrings with his teeth. Her breath was ragged as the tip of his tongue ran along her sensitive skin.

"And then afterward, I plan on making sure no harm has come to you." His lips continued to ghost along her skin while one of his fingers lightly brushed her flesh. Lhiannon sighed and shivered under his touch, the warmth beginning to build in her core and a tingle rippling through her as his lips brushed her skin and the grip on the back of her neck tightened. "Every… single… inch… of you," he said, punctuating his words with a sharp bite of his teeth. She moaned with every mark he left on her flesh.

"I'll hurry back."

Loghain chuckled low in his throat, his armor beginning to feel more constrictive. "See that you do, madam."

* * *

After extracting herself from Loghain's embrace with great reluctance, Lhiannon soon found herself walking between Sergeants Maverlies and Joanna as they perused the offerings in the Denerim marketplace. Lhiannon's plan was to procure as many crafting reagents as possible; they could mix potions and poultices as they traveled. While she wished to carry some ready made potions and flasks of concentrator agent, the fact of the matter was that the flasks took up precious space in their packs, where the reagents elfroot and deep mushroom could be packed in far less space. They could conceivably be in the wilderness for some time and she would rather have too many reagents than not enough.

While Maverlies haggled with the dwarf Gorim over the price of arrows and crossbow bolts, Lhiannon found her gaze wandering over to the building that housed the Wonders of Thedas and felt her stomach drop a bit. The proprietor of the store was a Tranquil, a man she knew had been trained at Kinloch Hold before he underwent the Rite. As her mind wandered, Lhiannon felt herself become troubled in the light of recent circumstances. She had never fully committed herself to any of the mage fraternities, but found herself thinking more and more on them, especially on Anders and the Libertarians. Maybe they were right; maybe the mages should consider a clean break from the Chantry. The Chantry abhorred slavery, yet kept legions of Tranquil as docile labor and addicted their templars to lyrium to 'enhance' their abilities. _What if Anders and those like him are right? What if—"_

"Commander," Sergeant Joanna said, breaking Lhiannon from her reverie, "Sergeant Maverlies is finished here. Let's get you to the Wonders of Thedas."

Nodding, Lhiannon turned toward the shop and began walking, flanked by her two sergeants as her mind picked up her thoughts where they left off. As a mage, she found the Tranquil to be unsettling and pitiable. Her thoughts wandered back nearly a decade, back to a time where she was still an apprentice mage at Kinloch Hold and madly in love with a man who had been dragged from her side in the middle of the night…

The bell above the door tinkled lightly as she and her sergeants entered the expansive shop. Lhiannon looked about, seeing mages mill about the shelves of books on the open upper level. On the lower level, several other mages were present, working with dried ingredients and taking inventory of flasks and supplies. Behind the counter stood the Tranquil proprietor and several other Tranquil who were busily crafting runes and enchanting other objects. Lhiannon stepped forward, pulling a list from her pack and presenting it to the proprietor.

The proprietor looked at the list for a moment before turning to Lhiannon with his dull, unfeeling gaze. "The store has many of the reagents and supplies that you require, Warden Commander. More can be procured or crafted if you require them."

"Uh, yes," Lhiannon said, pulling her gaze away from a Tranquil who was slowly carving runes into a small sliverite dagger. "Can you give me an inventory of what you have? We are looking to leave for the Brecilian Forest as soon as the Landsmeet concludes."

The proprietor nodded once, slowly and methodically. "Yes, Warden Commander. Allow me to refer to our stock. Please wait a few moments." Lhiannon watched as the proprietor turned away, moving stiffly through the racks of dried herbs and reagents with her list.

"Lhiannon?"

Lhiannon turned to the low voice, grinning as Rigana came down the stairs from the second floor to give her a warm hug. Maverlies moved to intercept the other mage, but paused when Joanna shook her head and waved her off.

"Rigana! I'm glad to see you," Lhiannon said, grinning widely at her old friend. "I've wanted to speak with you. You know, catch up a bit."

Rigana looked about, her eyes flicking to the Tranquil scattered throughout the store. "This isn't the best place," the mage said in a low whisper. "The walls may not have emotions, but they do have ears."

With a grin, Lhiannon nodded. Rigana had not lost her sense of humor in the time they had been apart. "I need to stop at the Grey Warden compound before I return to the palace for the evening. Why don't you accompany us there?"

"I'd like that, Lhi," Rigana said, moving to the counter with a book of magical lore and setting a number of sovereigns on the surface. "It's been a long time since we talked."

Lhiannon was about to answer her friend when the proprietor suddenly appeared at their side, startling her. He returned the list to her, saying that he could have the necessary amount of herbs and potions ready for her before they left for the Brecilian Forest. "I shall have your order prepared for you by the conclusion of the Landsmeet. I will need a deposit, however, to procure any additional supplies that may become available." Nodding, Lhiannon handed a number of sovereigns to the proprietor before turning to leave with her sergeants and Rigana.

* * *

"I didn't want to say anything in the marketplace, but there are mages who will eagerly support the new Circle in Highever," Rigana said as they entered the main hall of the Grey Warden compound shortly before dusk. "You may even find mages returning from abroad to help you, especially from the Circle in Kirkwall, once word spreads."

Lhiannon closed the door to the Grey Warden compound, shutting out the chill of the impending night. Anders called out a greeting as they entered, moving to give Rigana a warm hug and a kiss on each cheek. Quickly casting out her tainted senses, Lhiannon discovered two other Wardens in the building besides Anders, one of which had a distinctly intimate feel. She felt her lips quirk upward in anticipation of their return to the apartments in the palace. Her skin tingled where Loghain's teeth bit her earlier and she felt her blood begin to heat, a smoldering burn under her skin.

_Focus on the task at hand, Lhi. _Reluctantly, she pulled her thoughts away from the pleasures awaiting her later to the present and the task at hand. "Kirkwall?" Lhiannon said, her brows furrowing in confusion. "Why would mages want to leave the Kirkwall Circle? I admit, I'm not familiar with the city or the Free Marches in general."

It was Loghain who answered as he entered the hall. Lhiannon felt his own tainted blood begin to heat as he drew closer to her; clearly, he was anticipating their return to the palace as much as she was. "The Free Marches," he began, nodding a greeting to Rigana, "are more a confederation of city-states than a true united nation like Ferelden. When something comes forward to threaten the whole, they will unite for their common cause. Other than that, they act as independent entities."

Returning Loghain's silent greeting, Rigana continued. "The new Knight Commander of the templars holds the power there. Well, she's not _new_ new, but she _is_ perhaps the most powerful person in Kirkwall." Rigana paused, shivering lightly in her robes. "Knight Commander Meredith arrested the last Viscount, Perrin Threnhold, after he hanged the former Knight Commander. Rumors have persisted for years that she was the one who ordered Threnhold's death and put Marlowe Dumar's name up for consideration as Viscount afterward. Meredith is a hard-nosed templar who corrals the mages in their Circle."

"The _Gallows_," Anders said, his words little more than a snarl. "I have a friend in Kirkwall who likens their Circle to a prison. _Any_ mage in Kirkwall can be taken there for almost _any_ reason."

"You're right, Anders," Rigana said, her nod emphatic. "Kirkwall isn't a friendly place for mages. At any rate, you will find support among the mages for this new Circle, no matter where they are."

"But without some sort of Chantry approval, this proposal will die in its infancy," Loghain said. "And there _must_ be Chantry support; mistrust of magic runs deep among the populace. There will be an outcry if the mages try to spite the Chantry outright..." Loghain paused for a moment, his attention focusing solidly on Anders. "…or if more radical mages seek to impose their beliefs on _all_ mages."

The tension in the room increased at Loghain's words, but Lhiannon knew he was right. As much as she wanted mages to be as independent as she and the mage Wardens were, it would be impossible without some sort of sanction from the Chantry. If the more extreme Libertarians or Revolutionists came to power, it could divide the mages and the whole of Ferelden once more. Not only that, it could bring the wrath of the Chantry itself upon Ferelden with the Divine at the head of an exalted march. The thought of a war between the mages and the Chantry within the borders of Ferelden made Lhiannon's blood run cold.

"But how else will we be able to show them that most mages are not a danger to anyone?" Anders asked, his voice rising in anger and his hands gesturing sharply. "The Chantry will never admit that!"

"Andy, these things can't be rushed without thinking of possible consequences," Lhiannon said with a sigh. "I can see your point and in many ways, I feel the same way. However, Loghain is right too, much as I am loath to admit it. The Circle and the Chantry may have to move even more slowly with reforms than the Crown has suggested."

Anders favored her with an angry glare, his eyes narrowing as he took a breath to retort. _How can Lhi say that? Mages are not curses, nor abominations. _"Lhi, mages _deserve_ to be free from subjugation! If _we_ don't take the first steps, who will?"

"We _can_ take steps, but they must be done carefully, lest Ferelden become another Kirkwall," Rigana said. "Believe me when I say you _don't_ want Ferelden to become another Kirkwall for mages. You've never been there, so you don't know what it's like—"

Anders scoffed loudly, pounding his fist into his open palm. "And if we _don't_ do _anything_, mages will continue to be subjugated. Karl said—"

"Karl?" Lhiannon asked. "Karl Thekla?"

Both Rigana and Anders nodded. "Karl was transferred to the Kirkwall Circle just before Ostagar," Anders said in explanation, looking warily at Loghain. Seeing no reaction from the taciturn Second Warden at the mention of the ruins, Anders continued. "You were already conscripted by that time. They were looking for more enchanters to help teach the apprentices and reached out to the Ferelden Circle for assistance. Little did he know he was walking into a prison."

With an impatient scoff, Loghain slashed a hand through the air. "May we return to the subject of this new Circle and not on what does or does not go on in Kirkwall?"

Anders turned and began to stalk away, but stopped when Lhiannon called out to him. "Look, Anders," she began, "I know you want to see the Circle freed from Chantry oversight. I do too, but it has to be done very carefully. That is why the Crown has asked both the Circle and the Chantry to put forward plans for the establishment, administration, and security of this new Circle. Not only did the Crown ask for it, but Teyrn Cousland demanded to be part of the planning process."

Anders crossed his arms over his chest and gave Lhiannon a wary look. "But what if the Chantry decides to drag their collective feet and derail the process?"

"That won't happen," Lhiannon said, "if the Circle or the Chantry have not submitted their plans within two months, the Crown will move forward with Highever in establishing the new Circle. The Chantry will have to either work with the Crown, Highever, and the mages or be left out. I don't think they will do that; they will want a say and it would be best for them to formulate a plan now and get what they want rather than have the Crown and Highever make the decision for them." Lhiannon stepped forward, reaching out and grasping Anders' arms with her armored hands. "There _will_ be a new Circle in Ferelden, Andy; a Circle with limited Chantry oversight." She paused for a moment, gently squeezing Anders' arms once more before releasing him and stepping back. "_But_, it is up to us as mages to make sure _nothing_ happens to jeopardize that; I don't need to tell you what could happen if something does go awry. It's an uphill battle, Andy, and it will take time."

Loghain stepped forward, his gaze falling onto Lhiannon. "With all due respect, _Commander, _I have had enough talk of Landsmeets and issues therein. Perhaps it is time we retire to the palace and prepare for tomorrow's session."

Lhiannon grinned, feeling the heat building in her blood once more. A flush crept up her cheeks and her heart began to pound in her chest, the anticipation building with each passing moment. It was a fine idea her Second had. "Perhaps it is."

* * *

It was full dark as Lhiannon and Loghain returned to the palace, the streets filling with both revelers and city guardsmen as they journeyed from the Grey Warden compound. The sounds of music and merriment fell behind them as they entered the walls of the palace grounds and the comparative silence within. Their steps unconsciously quickened as they drew closer to the imposing structure, the slow burn in their blood stoked into a raging fire that grew more intense as they neared the wing of the palace containing their apartments. The urge to begin loosening her armor was almost impossible for Lhiannon to resist as she felt Loghain's anticipation growing through their tainted blood. He kept his want behind a careful and practiced façade as they passed others in the hallways. Their apartments seemed miles away. Loghain caught her eye as they rounded the last corner before their rooms; her breath fixed inside her as she saw the raw need in his gaze. He reached out for her as they came to a stop outside their apartments, the cool metal of his gauntlet scraping against the skin of her cheek as he lightly drew his finger down the flesh. She shivered under his touch, which brought an almost feral grin to Loghain's face. Before she could reach out and return his gesture, he opened the door to the apartments and went inside.

The entry room was brightly lit, a cheerful fire burning in the fireplace. Teagan and Raelyn sat at a small table near the fire, a game board between them with pieces both in play and scattered along the side near a small sand timer. Raelyn rested her chin in her hand, a small smirk on her face as Teagan concentrated deeply on the pieces before him. Lhiannon gave them a perfunctory greeting as she followed Loghain into their bedchamber at the far side of the apartments. He stepped aside to allow her entry into the room first, then quietly ran the bolt to secure the door.

Before Lhiannon could begin removing her armor, Loghain grabbed her from behind, whirling her into the wall with a resounding thud. He pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise as he hungrily kissed her. His greater mass pinned her to the wall, his tongue moving along hers and his breath hot against her skin.

The kiss broke moments later, both left breathless and wanting in their heavy armor. Lhiannon shook off one of her gauntlets, slowly lifting her hand to Loghain's face as the armored glove thumped on the floor at their feet. She placed her fingers at Loghain's temple, the tips slowly tracing lines down his cheek, to the bone of his jaw, and down the skin of his neck to where the flesh disappeared within his armor. His breathing became more ragged as her fingers traced their gentle course, his intense gaze never leaving hers. She felt his fingers move along the seam where her back and breastplates fastened together, loosening ties and buckles as his gaze never left hers. His breath warmed her skin as he drew closer, his lips once more claiming hers. She reached up and began fussing with Loghain's armor as he worked hers, their bodies eventually revealed as the metal encasing them fell away. As the last piece of armor fell to the floor, Loghain pressed himself up against Lhiannon once more, his lips biting at the skin of her neck as he ground against her.

Lhiannon scrabbled at the ties to his trousers as his lips came to hers, sucking and biting. He gasped and moaned into her mouth as her seeking fingers found him, her skin almost cold against his hot flesh. Loghain slapped her hand away as he teetered on the edge of release, frantically working at the ties to Lhiannon's trousers as her nails scraped over the flesh of his backside and up. She grabbed the hem of his tunic, yanking it up and over his head to be carelessly discarded. After what seemed like an eternity her trousers fell away and Loghain pulled her down to the floor, settling her onto him as he sat with his legs crossed. As she began to move on him, she jerked her own tunic up and over her head, dropping it into a heap behind her as Loghain's seeking mouth found her skin and his hands grasped her tightly to him. He aided her movements as she rode him, her head falling backward and the end of her braid brushing up against his hands. He pulled her roughly down onto him as he thrust upward, her breathless moans muffled by his kisses and his back on fire from where she dug her nails into his flesh. With his fingers tightly grasping her thighs, he drove himself into her as she bore down on him, his body quivering with the force of his release and his breath ragged against her flesh.

After a moment spent gathering their breath, Loghain lay back onto the cool floor, pulling Lhiannon with him and settling her into the crook of his arm. Her head rested against his shoulder, her fingers drawing lazy patterns onto the skin of his chest.

"Madam, it was rather rude to make me wait so long for you."

Lhiannon raised her head from Loghain's shoulder, dropping a kiss onto the tip of his nose. She grinned mischievously at his quirked brow and brought a finger to his forehead, running it down the center of his prominent nose "But it _was_ worth waiting for, was it not? Or are you like an impatient child at a birthday celebration, seeking to open all your gifts at once?"

"Madam, it has been years since I was a child. Some would question if I was ever a child at all."

"Ah," Lhiannon said as her mischievous grin grew wider, "but you said nothing about 'impatient'. Am I to assume that you _are_ an impatient man?"

Loghain quickly rolled over, resting his greater bulk on top of Lhiannon. A quirked brow and a searing kiss gave Lhiannon all the answer she needed.

* * *

_I know I said I would try to not go three weeks without an update again, but here we are. I apologize for the delay; it's only partially Skyrim related. :p Real life has thrown some curve balls at me and they have taken a toll on the muse. I'm doing my best to try and find my way again, but I'll be honest... it's frustrating some days. Just crack that whip at me (I'm lookin' at you, Cheeky Monkeys). ;)_

_For the life of me, I couldn't remember what color Ser Pounce's eyes were and I didn't have a decent Awakenings save to check. I thought I remembered them being a bright green, so green they are. :)  
_

_Big thanks go to reviewers JackOfBladesX, Shakespira, xseikax, Oleander's One, Dark Chubb, cloud1004, Arsinoe, Ventisquear, Aura of Darkness Night, Tyanilth, and Jessie Long._

_Thanks to all you other readers and those who have bookmarked the story. The support and encouragement of the readers means a lot! A happy belated Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans!  
_


	44. All For the Good of Ferelden: Part One

Loghain opened his eyes on the second morning of the Landsmeet, wiping the stickiness out of them with calloused fingers as he watched the sleeping form of Lhiannon beside him. She faced the edge of the bed and was curled up into a ball, blankets pulled up to her chin and her hair splayed out upon the pillow. He shifted across the bed and put his arm around her, drawing her close and savoring the gentle heat of her body. She moved in his arms, her voice a crackle as she spoke.

"…wha time izzut?"

Shifting his eyes to the window, Loghain looked at the pink and orange hues that were splashed across the horizon, the colors just beginning to push into the darkness of the night sky as they heralded the coming dawn. "It's not long before sunrise, and probably best that you get up now to prepare for the day. This day promises to be long."

With a sigh, Lhiannon turned in Loghain's arms and snuggled closer to him, her head settled under his chin. She felt him burrow his nose into her hair and inhale as he drew her closer. Sleep pulled at Lhiannon once more, easy to succumb to while wrapped in Loghain's strong embrace. "I don't wanna get up," Lhiannon said, yawning into Loghain's chest. "I'd rather jus' stay here."

"As do I, however I would prefer to not lecture you on the importance of duty."

Lhiannon shifted in the bed and looked into Loghain's eyes, seeing the mirth that flickered within them. Reaching up, Lhiannon tweaked Loghain's nose, earning a brusque scoff and a playful slap on the behind from him. "Need I tell you where you can stick that lecture on duty?"

Loghain favored her with a raised brow as his hand settled on her bare hip. "Such language isn't becoming of an Arlessa, my Lady Mac Tir. Clearly, something must be done about that filthy mouth of yours."

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corner of Lhiannon's mouth. "And what shall you do with my filthy mouth, my Lord Mac Tir?"

Loghain found that a blistering, lingering kiss was most effective at quieting Lhiannon's smart tongue.

* * *

The low voices of nobles filled the halls of the palace as Lhiannon and Loghain drew near. They had bid farewell to Teagan and Raelyn several minutes earlier, telling them to be ready to speak at the Landsmeet before the day was concluded. Rather than being nervous, both had expressed their anxiousness to conclude the affairs in Denerim and return to Vigil's Keep as soon as possible. Having been hidden away in Loghain's former apartments for the last couple of days was taking a toll on them, both becoming restless as the hours passed without word that their presence was required. Lhiannon had promised that if it was within her power to do so, she would try to bring the topic of Eamon up early in the interest of concluding that part of the Landsmeet. She had made no promises though, as she had quickly learned that these affairs tended to morph on their own.

Upon entering the Landsmeet chamber, Lhiannon looked about and saw a great many of the nobility already in attendance, with others filing in behind them after surrendering their weapons to the guardsmen at the door. The men and women moved to the places they occupied the day before out of a sense of familiarity. The Grand Cleric stood where she had the previous day as well, flanked by templars Deiniol and Tavish. They looked over the incoming crowd with hard expressions, looking at each nobleman or noblewoman as if they were misbehaving children.

The dais with the thrones and the sword that killed the archdemon was empty for the moment save for the palace chamberlain who waited patiently for the session to begin, his ceremonial staff in hand. Only a few minutes passed before the chamberlain thumped his staff on the floor, calling out for the gathered nobility to turn their attention to the dais. As Lhiannon and Loghain looked forward, they saw Alistair and Anora come into the chamber from a side doorway arm in arm, taking their places in front of the thrones. With a nod of greeting they sat, looking out toward their vassals. Lhiannon caught Alistair's eye, where she watched him give her a quick wink as one corner of his mouth threatened to twitch upward in his customary boyish grin.

The morning's session progressed rather smoothly, given the diverse personalities in attendance and their own agendas for what they wanted to obtain at this particular Landsmeet. Disagreements on land holdings, taxes, tariffs, and security were discussed at length. The idea of an early warning system using existing lighthouses and new beacons spread across Ferelden was debated. Princess Nerys was brought into the chamber at one point and deposited into her proud father's arms. Already there had been whispers amongst the nobility of possible betrothal candidates for the infant, which made Loghain's eyes roll constantly. The child was barely out of her mother's womb and already there were those in the nobility looking to use their sons to further their own ambitions.

The darkspawn were mentioned once again, with many of the landholders in the south expressing particular concern around the roaming bands that still raided their lands from time to time.

"Our mission after the conclusion of this Landsmeet is to travel to the south to study and seal the breach in the earth where the archdemon Urthemiel emerged from the Deep Roads," Lhiannon explained, motioning to a map of Ferelden on the wall. She did not want to give away exactly where the Grey Wardens were going, as she neither wanted glory-seeking mercenaries trying to tag along nor the curious to endanger themselves by trying to find where the archdemon rose. "We will seal the breach and do our best to survey the tainted lands; we need to know what lands can be purged of the taint fairly quickly and what lands may simply need time to heal. I thank the Maker every day that the archdemon emerged in a sparsely populated area."

"And will this keep the darkspawn from raiding our lands?" a voice called out in question from the chamber.

"Their raids have become fewer and more disorganized without an archdemon to lead them," Lhiannon said, her eyes casting over the curious faces around her. "Without a leader, they will return to the Deep Roads of their own volition and their incursions on the surface will continue to decrease. At any rate, sealing the breach will keep the darkspawn from using it to raid the surface in the future."

As Lhiannon watched the nods and listened to the murmurs of her fellow noblemen and women, her thoughts turned to the Deep Roads and the dwarves therein. While the troubles with the darkspawn continued to decrease on the surface, it would not be long before the darkspawn regrouped themselves and resumed their attacks on the dwarves. _Maybe I should speak to Alistair about mutual aid for the dwarves. They helped the Grey Wardens—and the surface dwellers—battle the Blight. Perhaps we need to consider helping them secure the Deep Roads between Orzammar and the outlying thaigs. We can't afford to continue on as before the Blight, not when we can combine our strengths._ She made a mental note to speak to Alistair about the idea of a formal treaty of mutual aid with the dwarves once the Landsmeet was over.

"While we are on the subject of the Blight and the darkspawn," Anora began, standing and holding her hand out toward the gathered crowd, "I would like Arl Eamon to step forward to the dais."

A quiet murmur rippled through the crowd as Arl Eamon made his way toward the head of the chamber, the curious eyes of his countrymen following his every move as the links of his chain armor rattled lightly. Lhiannon flicked her eyes up to Loghain's face beside her. Though his face was a carefully neutral mask, she could feel the irritation lurking behind it. Lhiannon did not know if the relationship between Loghain and Eamon had ever reached 'friend' status in Loghain's mind, but she knew there had been a great mutual respect between the men before the Blight began and King Cailan started dreaming of glorious conquest with the Grey Wardens at his side. Now, that respect was destroyed and replaced by antipathy.

Eamon arrived at the dais, giving the King and Queen a brief, curt bow. When he stood straight again, he spread his feet shoulder width apart and clasped his hands behind his back. "How may I be of service?" he said, his voice smooth and calm as he spoke.

The Queen's face was one of hard neutrality, one that Loghain knew was her carefully crafted ruling expression. He saw the small tick near her right eye, the telltale sign that Anora was angry. He knew that Anora had waited for this moment since the revelation of Cailan's scheming with both Eamon and Empress Celene came to light. To Anora, it was salt in the wound that had been opened with both the Blight and Cailan's death. This was her chance to confront the man who had spoken smooth assurances and kindness to her face, yet had held a dagger behind his back at the ready.

After a brief moment studying his daughter, Loghain turned his eyes to the King, who sat slightly slumped in his throne much like is father and brother had. Alistair rested his chin in his left hand, thumb beneath the jaw, forefinger resting on the side of his nose while the other fingers rested up against his lips. Unlike Anora, Alistair wore his emotions out in the open, much like his father and brother always had. He watched Eamon with what Loghain thought was a sense of sadness and disappointment. Knowing the man, Loghain postulated that Alistair did not want to get involved in this part of the Landsmeet unless he absolutely had to. The King was likely battling with his emotions; Eamon was the man that had raised him—if being relegated to a stable was considered raising him—and a part of Alistair must still feel a degree of affection for and loyalty to the Arl.

A small sigh escaped Loghain's lips; if he and Maric had known that Eamon and his Orlesian harpy would treat _Maric's own son _as little more than a pariah, perhaps they would have chosen his guardian differently. Of course, Maric could have pressed Eamon to treat the boy better, but that was also a double edged sword. Perhaps Loghain should have adopted the boy himself, telling Celia and Anora the truth of his birth; however, that would have been problematic as well. Loghain's political enemies would have said Alistair was his bastard, even though the boy looked nothing like him and bore a strong resemblance to Maric. While he did not care what the nobility would have thought of him, he did not want Celia and Anora to live with that stigma.

Loghain broke from his reverie when he heard Anora's voice cut through the Landsmeet chamber. "Tell me, Arl Eamon, when you gathered the armies of men, elves, and dwarves to Redcliffe, what was your intention?"

"My intention, Your Majesty?" Eamon asked, his brow furrowing and voice even. "It was my intention to assist the Grey Wardens in defeating the Blight. In that light, I do not understand your question."

Anora held Eamon's gaze for a moment before continuing. "I have studied the accounts of past Blights in recent months. It is believed that the archdemon is far more intelligent than both darkspawn and dragons. Surely such an intelligent creature would seek to destroy as many enemies as it could in a single campaign. Denerim is the most populous city in Ferelden; the archdemon could have easily broken the back of our nation if the capital was destroyed... and it very nearly was."

"Then it was of great benefit to have the armies stationed in Redcliffe at the time of the archdemon's initial assault," Eamon said, countering the Queen's argument. "The armies were able to protect Denerim, in the end."

"Or perhaps it was to make sure you had an army at the ready to secure Redcliff's position as an alternate capital should the worst have come to pass," Anora said. "The east could have been destroyed and likely the line of Calenhad with it. With such a grand army at your disposal and Highever in ruins, no one could have opposed Redcliffe."

Eamon held his face stoic as he regarded the Queen. "Your Majesty, I was reliant on the counsel of a _Grey Warden_…" Eamon's eyes flicked conspicuously to Alistair first and then Lhiannon. "…one who was an _experienced_ judge of the darkspawn and their behavior. No offense intended to the Grey Wardens in attendance today, but they were not as experienced as Grey Warden Riordan in these matters." Eamon then conspicuously looked at Loghain before returning his attention to the Queen. "Perhaps if the Grey Wardens from Orlais were allowed into Ferelden to help, we could have had a better gauge as to the movements of the horde. Warden Riordan's wish was to help Ferelden."

Bann Ceorlic raised his hand, stepping forward from his place into the main aisle of the chamber. "But weren't the armies already in Redcliffe before Grey Warden Riordan arrived there? Was he to provide consul to the armies? Or perhaps Warden Riordan's wish was to gauge Ferelden's defenses so that the chevaliers could have entered Ferelden unopposed. We know now that he slipped into Ferelden after the Orlesians were told to remain on their side of the border. It is within the realm of possibility that he was trying to further an agenda?"

Loghain mulled over Ceorlic's words as mutterings of both dissention and agreement filled the Landsmeet chamber. Ceorlic—for once—made a modicum of sense. Loghain himself had wondered if Riordan had had an agenda when he slipped into Ferelden all those months ago. Riordan had admitted that he was not far from his Calling, which is why he had suggested making the killing blow against the archdemon himself. Knowing he was so close to his Calling, what did Riordan have to lose by furthering the ambitions of Weisshaput or Orlais? If he were caught doing such for the Orlesians, he would have been executed as a spy. If not, he likely would have died in the battle against the archdemon. Either way, his death was imminent.

It was possible that Riordan was indeed acting in the interests of the Grey Wardens when he entered Ferelden, but could that have changed after he was captured and tortured by Rendon Howe? Loghain snorted quietly; while he was guilty of many misdeeds in the time surrounding the Blight, perhaps his greatest failure was in trusting Rendon Howe. Howe had, knowingly or not, given Riordan every reason to throw in his lot with Eamon in an effort to undermine Loghain—and Riordan had done exactly that. It was clear, however, from the mutterings in the chamber that not all those in attendance were of the same opinion as Loghain. He shifted his eyes to look down at Lhiannon; from the look on her face, she was unconvinced that Riordan had some sort of ulterior motive.

Anora turned her attention to Ceorlic. "Your point is a good one, Bann Ceorlic, and is a question that begs for an answer. It is also a timely question and one that I am about to address." Anora paused briefly, moving to a small table nearby and pouring herself a cup of water. The water was blessedly cool as it slid down her throat. As she drank she turned to where Alistair sat on his throne holding Nerys in his arms. He made faces and small cooing noises at her, unmindful of the nobility gathered before him. Anora found herself smiling behind the rim of her cup; normally, she would quietly admonish Alistair for acting in such a manner before their vassals, but seeing him interact with their daughter in such a way made her briefly overlook protocol.

"There are other questions I have for you, Arl Eamon," Anora said, breaking from her reverie and moving back toward Alistair. She held a hand out toward the King, smiling as her gaze fell to Nerys; the infant was enraptured by her father's face. The King shifted Nerys in his arm and reached into a pocket of the fine vest he wore, pulling out several pieces of parchment. The Queen dropped a kiss onto her daughter's head and accepted the documents with a nod before returning to the edge of the dais where Eamon stood. She looked out over the nobility, holding the documents up before those gathered. Lhiannon glanced at the Arl, whose eyes had gone briefly wide at the sight of the letters in the Queen's hand. Just as quickly, the Arl's face became an impartial mask once again.

"These letters, bearing the seals of Redcliffe and Orlais, were discovered in King Cailan's personal chest of belongings at the ruins of Ostagar by then-Wardens Alistair and Lhiannon. These letters came into the hands of the Arl and Arlessa of Redcliffe by way of a known Orlesian spy, who has since been executed; King Alistair, myself, and Teyrn Fergus Cousland all witnessed that execution." Anora paused for a moment, seeing the eyes of those gathered moving between her, Eamon, and the parchments she held in her hand. "The first letter is a formal offer of assistance from Orlais, where the Empress says her chevaliers stand ready to accompany the Grey Wardens of Orlais to Ferelden."

"Teyrn Loghain was right," a voice cried out from the rear of the Landsmeet chamber. "The Orlesians sought to use the Grey Wardens to invade Ferelden!"

Holding up a hand, Anora turned her glare to the voice that cried out. "We are not here to debate what the Orlesians had or had not planned at that time." Anora gently shook the letter in her hand in emphasis. "I present this letter now as a basis of comparison with the other two letters to follow."

After the gentle clearing of her throat, Anora began to read the letter from Empress Celene to King Cailan. Lhiannon turned to Loghain; his face was a tightly held mask of impassiveness, but she could feel the raging emotions within him. His gaze was fixed at a point over Anora's shoulder, studying that point with an intensity that made Lhiannon's heart nearly break. Pulling off her gauntlet, she took her hand and slipped it within Loghain's. His armored hand closed tightly around hers, the supple leather and sharp metal a contrast against her skin.

Anora paused as she finished the letter, allowing the echo of her voice to fade away in the chamber. "As you can see, this is a formal letter from one sovereign leader to another. There is nothing overtly questionable about this as written." Shuffling the first parchment behind the others, Anora held up a second letter, the bright red wax seal still attached.

"This, my lords and ladies, is a letter from Arl Eamon to King Cailan; penned in his hand and secured by his seal. This letter was written to the King shortly before the battle at Ostagar." Once more the Queen paused, her eyes scanning the crowd before landing on her father. Loghain met her gaze and saw a profound sadness echoed in her eyes. Though her face was a practiced mask—much like her father's—Loghain could see the deep hurt in her features; hurt not only at Cailan's stinging betrayal, but at the hurt that she no doubt saw reflected in his own eyes. Alistair rose from his throne, crossing the dais to stand at the Queen's side. Nerys gave a soft cooing sound, her deep blue eyes staring at her father's face.

Clearing her throat once more, Anora began to read. Lhiannon felt Loghain's hand grip hers more tightly, saw the lump in his throat move and his jaw clench tightly as Anora's voice filled the chamber.

"' _And yes, perhaps when this is over you will allow me to bring up the subject of your heir. While a son from both the Theirin and Mac Tir lines would unite Ferelden like no other, we must accept that perhaps this can never be. The queen approaches her thirtieth year and her ability to give you a child lessens with each passing month. I submit to you again that it might be time to put Anora aside. We parted harshly the last time I spoke of this, but it has been a full year since then and nothing has changed.'"_

Anora looked up from the parchment, seeing the eyes of the attendees focusing on either her or Eamon. She turned her gaze to Nerys, brushing her hand over the baby's head.

A murmur went through the gathered crowd and Eamon opened his mouth to speak. "The line of Calenhad was in danger of being broken. You had not provided an heir—"

Anora held up her hand for silence. "Arl Eamon, I will allow you to speak after the last letter has been read." He looked about to protest further, but after receiving an icy glare from not only Anora, but Alistair, he remained silent.

"This last letter found at Ostagar, my lords and ladies, was written to King Cailan from Empress Celene." Anora's eyes narrowed and she held up a finger, pointing out toward the assembled nobility. "I beseech all of you to listen to this letter _very carefully_ and remember the tone in which the first letter was written."

Lhiannon listened as Anora read the third, most familiar letter between Empress Celene and King Cailan. As Anora read, Lhiannon heard the Queen's voice become thicker and more hesitant. Whether it was a practiced act or genuine emotion from the Queen, Lhiannon was unsure. Knowing Anora, it could be a little of both.

"_'Once that is done, we can further discuss a permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden._'" Anora paused as she finished the letter, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I neither wish nor want to speak ill of the dead, but not only does this letter make it clear that Cailan could not be swayed from fighting on the front lines at Ostagar, but it also makes it clear that he was in negotiations with Orlais to have me put aside as Queen and to marry Empress Celene."

"But that would have made the Empress Queen of Ferelden," Bann Alfstanna said, her brow furrowing deeply. "Surely she would not have given up her crown in Orlais to come to rule Ferelden?"

Lhiannon quickly squeezed Loghain's hand as he drew breath to answer. "Don't speak," she whispered to him, "let the nobles make the connections. It will impact them more deeply if they do it themselves."

"I highly doubt she would," Fergus said as he stepped forward. "The Orlesians see Ferelden as a nation of barbarian dog lords. Her court would never allow her to rule from Ferelden, not even for a few months of the year. They would see it as beneath her and putting Ferelden on equal footing with them." Fergus turned toward Eamon, crossing his arms over the ceremonial armor adorning his chest. "Was this your doing, Eamon? Did you encourage King Cailan to marry Empress Celene in the hopes of continuing the line of Calenhad?"

Eamon turned his level gaze to Fergus. "I was indeed concerned for the line of Calenhad. The line was in danger of being broken since the Queen was unable to provide an heir for Cailan. The Empress was the only person of equal standing to Cailan."

"Of course, Arl Eamon, you immediately assumed that the lack of an heir was because I was barren," Anora said, the anger and hurt resonating clearly in her voice. "It was widely known that Cailan had a number of mistresses and none of them have produced any heirs; those children would have been brought forward by now, if only to put forth a challenge for the throne." Anora turned to where Alistair stood at her side holding the now sleeping Nerys. "Since I have given King Alistair a child—and in short order—perhaps the fault was elsewhere." Anora's eyes narrowed further as she continued to level her harsh stare at Eamon. "Was the perception of barrenness really why you wished to remove me as queen after Cailan's death, or was it simply to put what you hoped was a puppet king on the throne, be it Alistair or your own son?"

Eamon's face turned hard. He brought a finger up to admonish the Queen, but lowered it before he could wag it at her. "You do not have a drop of noble blood in your veins. You were queen in name and title only; you are the daughter of _commoners_." He spat the word at Anora like an accusation.

Loghain jerked his hand from Lhiannon's grasp, stepping forward to break the silence he had held so close for Lhiannon's sake. She felt a small cut open on her hand from the metal of Loghain's gauntlet. She removed her other gauntlet and pressed a finger against the small cut to staunch the bleeding. Loghain's fury at Eamon roiled through the taint between them.

"You dare to judge the Queen's noble status? Maric_... your sister's husband... _elevated me to Teyrn while you were little more than a boy in the Free Marches. I sacrificed my own father at his command to save Maric from the traitors that killed Queen Moira for the favor of a usurper. The Queen was born a lady of Gwaren, heir to the lands her mother and I worked to rebuild." Loghain took another step forward, his eyes narrowing at Eamon. "Just how many generations does it take for one to be 'noble enough' to your eyes? A generation? Ten? More?"

Anora calmly stepped from the dais, laying a hand on her furious father's arm. She knew it had been only a matter of time before Loghain directly confronted Eamon regarding his meddling into Cailan's affairs. In a way, she was both proud of and amazed that her father had held his place for so long. Now, however, was the time to defuse her father's fury. He turned his gaze to Anora; the bright fire she saw in his eyes dimmed somewhat as he saw her silent plea. With an exasperated snort, Loghain took a step back to resume his place at Lhiannon's side. Though he had backed away, he returned his stern gaze to the Arl before him, daring him to defend himself.

"I have here one last letter, this one addressed to the Warden Commander and penned by Isolde Guerein herself," Anora said, holding up the simple parchment. "This letter was given to Teagan Guerein when he was deposed from Rainesfere under suspicious circumstances—handed to him by the Arl himself. This letter serves as strong evidence that the Arl was aiding and abetting his fugitive wife, the woman who was convicted of conspiracy against the Arling of Amaranthine and the Warden Commander."

Turning her attention to the Arl, Anora held up the letters in her hand. "Do you deny, Arl Eamon, that this letter bears your hand and seal? That you suggested—more than once—that the King consider setting me aside to arrange a marriage with Empress Celene of Orlais?"

"I deny nothing. All I have done was for the good of Ferelden and fulfillment of the Maker's will. I will answer to the Maker for my deeds, as will we all."

"And do you deny aiding and abetting a convicted fugitive?"

Eamon's brows furrowed, the deep lines in his skin becoming more pronounced. "Would you not do anything for your husband? Your father? Your _daughter?_"

Another murmur ran through the crowd as Anora turned and approached Alistair, trading the parchment in her hand for the tiny form of the princess. She gently hugged Nerys and place a small kiss onto her forehead before nodding to a nursery maid nearby. After stopping to say goodbye to the king, the nursemaid whisked the sleeping princess away. Anora watched wistfully as her daughter was carried out of the chamber; part of her felt guilty at using Nerys in such a display of fertility, but it had to be done. The nobility had to believe that the lack of an heir with Cailan was not because she was barren. They had to see how Eamon's meddling nearly made them a province of Orlais once more; it was only the disaster at Ostagar that prevented those plans from coming to fruition. They had to see that he likely gave aid and succor to a criminal. The Arl had changed and not for the better.

Eamon's meddling had to end.

* * *

_The letters Anora read to the Landsmeet are Cailan's documents that you can find in his chest during the Return to Ostagar campaign. The italicized parts are taken from the codex. The other letter she referenced is one that Eamon gave to Teagan earlier in this story. The idea of early warning beacons is from the Lord of the Rings universe. Since there are so many worried about Orlais, I thought the idea of beacons from the border to Denerim makes sense. Light travels much faster than scouts on horses.  
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_This chapter has given me fits for some time now and I can see myself coming back and editing this at some point. Every time I thought I was done, I would remember something else I wanted to add and so I'd have to weave that in. I know I mentioned to some of you that I didn't want to break this part of the story into two chapters, but after mulling it over for the past two days as I wrote the bulk of this chapter, I decided to do so. I just want to be as careful and thorough as I can be with this part of the story. So, if I could beg your indulgence just a bit longer, I promise the Wardens will get back to adventuring very, very soon. I'm just as anxious as you are! If it's any consolation, the next chapter should be out likely between Christmas and New Year's (since it's all but complete already).  
_

_A couple of special thank yous here. Thanks to Gene Dark for a conversation we had a number of weeks back regarding Riordan and his "shades of grey" status. I took your idea and ran with it. Thanks as well to Shakespira for checking up on me and offering her assistance with this chapter. I very much appreciate it, my friend! More thanks go to my dear Tyanilth, who has listened to me grouse about my muse for some time now. I think she's coming around, very slowly, and I have you to thank for cracking the whip._

_Many thanks and much love go out to reviewers Suilven, Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, JackOfBlaesX, Ventisquear, Arsinoe, cloud1004, Selena Khrystafur, Dante Aligheri, Jessie Long, Wyl, Reyavie, Tyanilth, and naomis8329. Your reviews always brighten my day and often help me flesh out new ideas. I'm grateful to you all._

_Thanks as well to all of you who have read, reviewed, and marked the story in some way this year. I'm grateful beyond words that you have blessed me with your time and feedback. A very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all!  
_


	45. All for the Good of Ferelden: Part Two

**_Extra special thanks and lots of cookies go to Suilven for her generous offer of help with this chapter and her sharp beta eye! You've helped me out more than you know! Thanks for holding my hand with this chapter.  
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Raelyn intently studied the game board before her, trying to find a way to break Teagan's relentless attack on her pieces. In the days they had been hidden away in the posh, yet confining apartment within the palace, she had lost count of how many hours she and Teagan had sat staring at the game board. They had planned on making such games a distraction, keeping their minds off what was happening in the Landsmeet chamber. Though the chamber was only a brief walk away, it might as well be in Orzammar. Raelyn's restlessness was increasing with every passing moment. She tapped her foot on the floor and rolled the end of the simple sash of her robe in her fingers, the fabric becoming damp and wrinkled with the constant worrying of her sweaty fingers. She chewed her bottom lip relentlessly, ignoring the tenderness the constant nibbling caused.

"Raelyn."

The mage looked up from the board, meeting Teagan's gaze with a slight shake of her head. "It's your move," he said, a single brow ticking upward in questioning.

Raelyn sighed. "I'm sorry, Teagan. I'm completely distracted."

Teagan snorted. "As you have been since we arrived. Patience was never your strongest virtue, my friend."

"No, I suppose not," Raelyn agreed with a small smile. She glanced down at the game board, seeing that Teagan was, at most, three or four moves away from capturing her key piece. _Damn_. "Being cooped up in this room is far too reminiscent of my days at the Circle. I cherish my time away from the Tower, enjoying the freedom of being a Harrowed mage in the employ of a nobleman. This—" she said, her hands a sweeping gesture that indicated the room around them. "—is little more than a fancy prison until the Landsmeet confronts Eamon and calls for us to assist them."

"Rae," Teagan said, his voice containing a hint of exasperation, "you know we can't be seen by Eamon or his allies until we are called upon. They think bandits took us; that illusion needs to be kept in place until we are revealed."

"I know that, but—"

The snick of a key in the lock broke their conversation off. As the door opened, they saw that it was Loghain on the other side. He motioned them forward with a crisp wave of his armored hand. "Come. The Landsmeet is on break, but you will be needed in short order."

Both Raelyn and Teagan quickly stood, the table shaking between them and scattering game pieces over the board where they rolled about before several fell to the floor. Loghain closed and locked the door once Raelyn and Teagan entered the hallway. Turning quickly on his heel, Loghain led them through the halls of the palace toward the Landsmeet chamber. Raelyn felt her stomach drop with every step she took, knowing she would soon have to confront their tormenters face to face. Though she had tried her best to prepare for the eventuality of the confrontation, she still felt terribly unprepared.

As Raelyn and Teagan approached the Landsmeet chamber behind Loghain, they could hear Eamon's voice calmly yet vehemently speaking his piece as other voices joined him in argument. Loghain motioned for them to follow him into a small anteroom just off the main hall of the Landsmeet chamber. The anteroom, though small, boasted two high backed, richly cushioned chairs, a small table with an ornate lantern and small pack resting on it, and a bookshelf filled with tomes. Perched on one of the chairs sat Sigrun, her feet dangling off the seat and swinging with a girlish motion, the metal plates of her Warden armor clinking lightly. She looked up from the tome in her lap, a broad grin crossing her face as she scrambled off the chair; the tome tumbled off her lap and onto the floor with a thump.

"Teagan! Raelyn! By the ancestors, it's great to see you again!" The dwarf came forward and gave both humans a boisterous hug around their waists before stepping back, her eyes becoming downcast and her expression crestfallen. "I'm so sorry I left you both. I can't help but think I shouldn't have left you. That I should have done something more—"

Teagan placed a hand on Sigrun's armored shoulder, settling down onto one knee so that he could look at her directly. "My friend, you showed incredible valor by leaving and braving the wilderness alone. I think I can speak for Raelyn when I say we are in your debt for such a noble act."

"Teagan's right, Sigrun," Raelyn said, pulling up the hem of her robe to join Teagan at Sigrun's level. "You _saved _us_._" Raelyn felt a lump form in her throat at the thought of what could have happened to them had Sigrun not fled. She was their little hero, yet it was clear that Sigrun was harboring strong feelings of guilt. Riding to Denerim had to have been an enormous challenge for her, since the dwarf was still getting acclimated to life on the surface. How could Raelyn adequately express her feelings of gratitude for what Sigrun had done? Was there even a way that she could?

Sigrun's cheeks flushed pink beneath the dark tattoos on her face. A sheepish grin crossed her features as she brought her gaze up from the floor to meet Teagan and Raelyn's eyes. "Ah, you two nughumpers," she said, her voice slightly thick with emotion as she lightly punched first Teagan's shoulder, then Raelyn's.

While Teagan and Raelyn spoke with Sigrun, Loghain cocked his ear toward the Landsmeet chamber just on the other side of the common wall. The session had resumed; Eamon was apparently being asked once again about stationing the armies in Redcliffe. Why did he not have a contingent split off toward Denerim? With the armies of Redcliffe still intact from their absence at Ostagar, why did he not send some of his men to Denerim ahead of the main body of the army? Eamon argued that as the natural opposition to Loghain, it would have been foolish to send men toward the capital while the civil war raged; they would have just been captured by Teyrn Loghain's men.

"But what about bringing some of your men to Denerim for the last Landsmeet? War wasn't to be fought then!"

"We did not know that for certain," Eamon said, his voice sounding slightly exasperated. "In war, anything can happen. I could not risk the armies being captured by Loghain's men."

"You mean you couldn't risk weakening your position in Redcliffe!" a voice cried out in accusation.

"If Denerim fell, Arl Eamon and Redcliffe would have been needed to lead Ferelden against the Blight," the gravelly voice of Bann Murdock argued. "Teyrn Cousland and Highever were in shambles; they could not have led the nation during such a dark time. The burden to turn back the Blight would have fallen to Arl Eamon."

Loud murmurs rippled through the chamber. "Don't you mean the burden of turning back the Blight would have fallen onto the Grey Wardens?"

A rhythmic thumping sounded through the wall separating the Landsmeet chamber from the anteroom. Loghain listened to the chamberlain call for order. After several moments, the voices in the chamber fell quiet once more. Alistair's voice rang out, calling Teyrn Fergus forward to preside over the next order of business regarding the Arl.

Loghain cleared his throat, temporarily interrupting the reunion. He watched as the humans stood and turned to face him, seeing the resolved, stoic face of Teagan and the worried, pale face of Raelyn regarding him. Loghain gave them a curt nod. "I will come for you shortly. Be ready."

Loghain turned and left his charges behind, entering the Landsmeet chamber through a side door and weaving his way toward Lhiannon's side. He gave his wife a brief nod before turning his attention to where Alistair and Anora stood on the dais, watching as Fergus Cousland questioned Eamon. He held a piece of parchment in the air, the wax seals of the Crown, Highever, and Amaranthine still attached.

"The fact of the matter, Arl Eamon, is that testimony came out at your wife's trial in Amaranthine that you were aware of plans to do harm to the Warden Commander, yet did nothing. The testimony from your wife shows she admitted to such. You also accepted messages from a known Orlesian spy with ties to the man that very nearly murdered the Warden Commander and Hero of Ferelden."

Lhiannon's hand absentmindedly came up to her chest, the metal of her gauntlet scraping the metal of her breastplate as her fingers brushed the spot where her scar lay beneath, suddenly burning hot on her skin. A memory flashed of seeing the dagger reflecting the sunlight as it plunged into her chest. She saw the hilt as clearly now as she had then, felt the breath escaping her, felt the burn of manacles on her wrists and the pop of pain in her shoulder.

"Warden Commander, are you unwell?"

Lhiannon broke from her living nightmare to see many heads turned toward her, expressions of pity and concern on their faces. "No," she said, quickly nodding and pulling her hand away from where it rested against her chest. "No, Teyrn Fergus, I am fine. Please, continue."

"I have ever served to further the best interests of Ferelden while holding true to the Maker's laws," Eamon said, leveling his gaze at the young Teyrn. "Sometimes, that means making the hard decisions that others cannot or will not make."

Fergus snorted in annoyance. "So conspiring with a known spy and being a silent accomplice to the assault and attempted murder of the Warden Commander is furthering the best interests of Ferelden? Standing idly by while a plot was hatched to harm the person who risked her life to save yours? This person who risked her life to save your family and your arling? This is how Redcliffe shows its thanks?" Fergus paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before continuing. "Removing your brother—an honorable man—from his home because he told the truth of what he witnessed is in the best interests of Ferelden?"

"My brother was my vassal, therefore his lands were mine to do with as I wished." Eamon scoffed loudly. "What proof do you have that I consorted with an Orlesian spy?"

Fergus began to tick the names of the witnesses off on his fingers. "There were eight people present to hear the bard's confession: the King and Queen, myself, Seneschal Varel of Vigil's Keep, the Warden Commander, the Arl of Amaranthine, and two guards. We all heard the bard implicate you in the scheming against the Crown and the Warden Commander. The bard herself was implicated by the man who attempted to murder the Warden Commander."

"And you believed her?" Eamon said, his voice derisive. "Someone who was an alleged spy? Her word is to be taken for the truth?"

"Sister Margaux was doing the Maker's work," Deiniol said, stepping forward to stand next to Eamon. "The most basic tenet of Andraste's word is being ignored every day. With every passing moment, we are giving those accursed by the Maker more and more power through inaction. The horrors of the Imperium will rise anew if this trend isn't stopped here and now!"

"I must agree with my brother Deiniol," Tavish said, giving a small nod to his brother templar. "The Mages Collective sought to further the mages' separatist agenda. Without oversight, mages will turn to demons and blood for their power. That cannot be allowed to happen."

"I know now that my lack of faith is what cursed my son," Eamon said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean to rectify that by bringing Ferelden back to the Maker's path however I can."

"We will take whatever steps are necessary to ensure the Maker's will is fulfilled," Deiniol said, placing an armored hand on Eamon's shoulder. "Our brother Eamon seeks to earn the Maker's favor and save Ferelden from the darkness of magic."

Loghain began to move toward a side door, his voice ringing out as he turned the handle and stepped aside. "And do such steps include the capture and torture of your kin and a Grey Warden?"

A number of confused murmurs and questions filled the chamber as Teagan and Raelyn stepped inside and followed Loghain to the edge of the dais where Fergus stood before Eamon. Sigrun followed just behind them, moving to stand near Lhiannon's side. While Teagan was dressed in a fine, if plain, tunic and trousers and carrying a small pack, Raelyn wore a simple mage robe of blue with a grey sash and the single griffon of the Grey Wardens embroidered on the front. Lhiannon did not need the taint to feel Raelyn's apprehension at facing those who had brutalized her and Teagan not so many days ago. Turning her head, she gave Sigrun a nod of greeting.

"That, Warden Loghain, is a question for which I am eagerly awaiting an answer to," Teagan said. Reaching out, he took Raelyn's hand and pulled her to Fergus' side, the expression on his face stony as he glared at his brother and templar allies. He paused briefly to hand Loghain the small pack in his hands**, **a look of abject relief crossing his face.

"What is this you speak of?" Fergus said, his voice a firm demand at Loghain. "Why have you brought these two from hiding like thieves?"

Loghain watched the expressions on the faces of Eamon and his templar associates, a smug satisfaction blooming within him. They had apparently not expected to see Teagan and Raelyn here before them. While Eamon's face soon became neutral, Deiniol's eyes narrowed as his gaze flickered back and forth between those standing before him. Loghain grinned, a wolfish expression that he generally saved for when moving in for the kill. He could see the templar piecing together the events of the last few days. "Your Grace, Eamon and his templar allies captured and tortured Teagan Guerrin, a small contingent of his men, and _Warden_ Raelyn as they traveled in southern Ferelden before the Landsmeet. Another Grey Warden, Sigrun, was with them and escaped, bringing this news to us here in Denerim."

Eamon snorted, the sound loud in the space between then. "Raelyn is no Grey Warden. And they were not 'traveling' through southern Ferelden, rather trying to garner support for their cause. Ferelden needs to return to the Maker's path and their actions were prohibiting that."

"I can assure you that Raelyn _is_ a Grey Warden, Arl Eamon," Lhiannon said. "She joined us not long after her arrival in Amaranthine and was traveling with Teagan at his behest and my order. Darkspawn raids, as you are well aware, still occur in the south. Wardens Raelyn and Sigrun were traveling with Teagan to not only protect him from the darkspawn, but to also conduct training exercises. While the Grey Wardens do not, as a rule, hire themselves out as escorts or guides, Warden Raelyn needed to have experience fighting the darkspawn as a Grey Warden if she was to accompany us to the breach. The King can confirm her status as one of us, if you wish." She moved to stand next to Raelyn in a show of silent support. "And I assure you, the torture of a Grey Warden does _not_ sit well with me, and I will ask you and your cohorts to explain your motives."

At the mention of the word 'torture', the Grand Cleric stepped forward from where she stood amongst her small delegation, leveling her stern gaze at Lhiannon and Loghain before turning toward Fergus. "The Warden Commander is mistaken. The Chantry does not condone such treatment of mages in templar custody, or the mistreatment of anyone for that matter."

Ser Hadley stepped forward from where stood with the delegation of mages and templars from Kinloch Hold. "Templars are to protect their charges and the general populace. It is our sacred duty and one that we take very seriously. While we sometimes must take what seems like harsh measures with mages that may be losing control, it is a last resort." Lhiannon watched as Ser Bryant nodded in agreement, while Ser Cullen merely watched the proceedings warily.

With a snort, Loghain met the Grand Cleric's firm gaze, his chin held high and voice imparting all the arrogance he could muster. "If it is proof of torture you wish to see, then I shall gladly provide it." Loghain turned to Lhiannon, beckoning her forward to hold the small pack while he rummaged through it.

Raelyn felt her skin break out in a clammy sweat as Loghain pulled the cruel bridles from the pack, holding up one in each hand to show those gathered in the chamber. Expressions of shock and revulsion echoed through the gathering as Raelyn's stomach began to roll violently within her. She placed one hand on her rebellious stomach, fighting against the nausea that raged inside her. She saw Lhiannon look to her, her expression one of sympathy. Raelyn felt Teagan's hand tighten around hers, pulling her closer to him in an effort to impart what strength he could to her.

The Grand Cleric stepped forward to examine the devices in Loghain's hands, seeing the faint mark of Andraste's flame etched in the metal. Her eyes grew wide in shock as she reached out and tentatively touched the symbol. "Where did you get these?" she asked, her voice quivering as she quickly pulled her finger away from the etched flame as if had burned her skin. "Divine Amara II ordered these destroyed in the Exalted Age, declaring that they were extraordinarily cruel. She ordered all Circles and templar compounds to destroy these devices with no exceptions made."

"Templar Deiniol's men forced that… _thing_… on me while Teagan and I were talking," Raelyn said, her voice quivering with emotion. The last thing she wanted to do was speak of such a horrific ordeal, but she knew that she must. If she were to find any sort of closure from her torment, she _had to_ speak. "I was bound so tightly that I couldn't cast a spell if I tried, even if the templars had not drained my mana already. It didn't matter though; they were so paranoid and fearful of me speaking that they forced that thing upon me." Raelyn took a deep breath, feeling a lump growing in her throat and hot tears burning in her eyes. There would be no way to fight them, so she did not bother trying. The hot tears fell from her eyes to roll down her chin and onto her robe.

"I have _never_ been so mistreated and humiliated _in my life_. I _suffered_ the entire time they forced me to wear it. I couldn't eat; I couldn't swallow. Just the slightest jostling from being tied to a horse drove those _fucking _spikes into my tongue. Even now, days after that damned thing was removed and numerous healing spells were cast on me, I can _still_ feel the pain…" Her voice was carried away by the sobs that finally broke through her chest. She covered her face in her hands and wept openly, not caring that she was breaking down in front of a room full of noble strangers. As she wept, she felt Teagan's arms wrap around her. She lowered her head to his chest, feeling the vibrations of his voice through her as he held her. Her sobs rang loudly in the Landsmeet chamber, the silence of those gathered hanging heavy in the air.

Teagan looked pointedly at Deiniol before addressing the Grand Cleric. "I, too, wore this device after seeing the cold callousness with which Raelyn was treated. I would not allow her to suffer alone. They refused to remove this_ thing_ from Raelyn despite both her and my assurances that she could not cast spells as tightly bound as she was. I begged them to release her." Teagan paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I do not know what has happened to my brother, but it is painfully clear that he is not himself and hasn't been for some time." Teagan turned toward Deiniol, a look of utter revulsion crossing his face. "Templars are to protect their charges, not brutalize them. You, ser, have apparently forgotten that."

The Grand Cleric held up a hand once Teagan finished his thought, turning toward Tavish, Deiniol, and Eamon. "You will destroy these devices immediately, Templar Deiniol, and report to me at the cathedral when completed. Templar Tavish, you will accompany Templar Deiniol to see that it is done."

Deiniol turned to face the Grand Cleric. "Your Grace, I do not think that is wise—"

The Grand Cleric cut him off with a curt wave of her hand. "Do not question me, Deiniol. Destroy the devices. _Immediately_."

With a smug grin, Loghain handed the spiked bridles to Deiniol, who yanked them from Loghain's hands with a barely concealed snarl. The templar turned and gave a curt bow to the Grand Cleric before he and Tavish stomped off, the metal of their armor clanging loudly as they moved away. The Grand Cleric turned her attention to Teagan and Raelyn, who had regained a degree of composure in the intervening moments.

"I apologize on behalf of the templar order for your mistreatment. I assure you, no one else shall be harmed by those cruel devices."

As the Grand Cleric spoke, Alistair leaned over to Anora, whispering into her ear for a moment. All eyes reverted forward, watching the exchange between the monarchs. After a moment, Alistair stopped speaking, looking at Anora expectantly. She turned to meet his gaze full on, giving him a crisp nod. Alistair returned it before standing, holding his hand out to Anora. She grasped it and stood, allowing Alistair to lead her toward the edge of the dais.

"Thank you, Teyrn Cousland, for your assistance in this matter. The Queen and I have spoken and agreed that we have heard enough, as we are sure you all have." Fergus bowed to the King and Queen, stepping back to stand within the first row of attendees.

"My lords and ladies of Ferelden," Alistair began, holding a hand up as his rich voice filled the hall. "You have heard the questions surrounding Arl Eamon and his actions over the past number of months. These questions are disturbing to the Queen and myself and should disturb you as well. Sworn testimony has been given that he knew of plans to harm the Warden Commander and did nothing to thwart them. He removed his brother as Bann of Rainesfere under questionable circumstances. There is evidence that he aided and abetted a convicted criminal. He allowed the torture of his brother and a Grey Warden. He has consorted with a known Orlesian spy and attempted to remove the Queen from the throne. It is strongly suspected that his suggestion to station the Grey Warden armies at Redcliffe was for the protection his own lands first, and the whole of Ferelden second." Alistair paused in his thoughts, holding his hands out in supplication before his vassals.

"This is a difficult position to be in. Not only am I the King, charged with keeping and enforcing the laws of the land, but I am also a man who was raised by the Arl. He was like a father to me. To see what has become of this man breaks my heart. And so I ask you, my compatriots, what should be done here? The Arl has betrayed the Hero of Ferelden, without whom very few of us would be here. He, himself, would likely not be here had the Hero of Ferelden not risked her life to find the cure that brought him out of his coma. He betrayed our country by consorting with a known Orlesian spy in her schemes."

"He tried to broker a deal to make that harlot Celene our queen!" Arl Bryland cried out from his place on the floor. "We would have fallen under Orlesian rule with the single stroke of a quill on parchment! He would have betrayed us all with Ferelden becoming an Orlesian province again. The blood we spilled to free our nation would have been wasted! His father would be ashamed!"

"If he's an accomplice to attempted murder, let him be punished!" another voice cried out.

Others began to call out their opinions as well. "No! He was only trying to do what was best for Ferelden! Maker preserve him!"

"He was willing to bring us permanent peace with the Orlesians! We need to focus on rebuilding our land and permanent peace will only make us stronger!"

"And we are to follow a Crown that sides with mages and gives knife ears lands of their own? We risk the Maker's wrath for such a stance!"

"He's guilty of conspiracy! Death to those who conspire against Ferelden and its Hero!"

Steward Cauthrien of Gwaren stepped forward, her ceremonial armor bearing the teyrnir's wyvern standard gleaming brightly. "Given the evidence I have heard and witnessing firsthand the trouble that the former Arlessa tried to stir up in Gwaren, I agree that Arl Eamon must be punished for his misdeeds."

"Everyone here knows that you're Arl Loghain's lapdog," a voice called out from within the chamber. "He says 'jump' and you respond with 'how high?' Of course you would take whatever opinion he has on the matter."

"Not true," Cauthrien said, her voice calm as it carried throughout the chamber. "The Orlesian spy and Isolde Guerrin had concocted a plan to murder the seneschal of Gwaren and stir up unrest within the teyrnir in an effort to draw then-Teyrn Loghain and the Warden Commander back to Gwaren proper. While the Teyrn investigated the unrest and quelled it, the conspirators had hoped it would leave the Warden Commander relatively unprotected so that harm could come to her there." Cauthrien paused, pointing toward where Lhiannon stood. "The Warden Commander and I do not have the friendly relationship that you assume we have. We have had our differences. I would classify our relationship as respectful and professional, not friendly. Nevertheless, the crimes against her and the crimes against the kingdom of Ferelden cannot go unpunished."

"I agree with the Steward," Fergus said as he stepped into the main aisle of the chamber. He walked along it, his gaze meeting a number of noble men and women as he spoke. "I presided over the trial in which Isolde Guerrin said Arl Eamon knew of the plans to attack the Warden Commander. I was there when the Orlesian spy said she carried messages to and from Redcliffe. At the very least, the Arl has shown a great deal of negligence regarding his wife's actions and this disturbs me greatly. Our nation needs to be united now; any weakness we show is likely to be exploited by those who would seek to take advantage of us. Have we not had enough internal strife in the last two years? Let the vanquishing of the Blight be a new beginning for us."

"This is a time to show mercy to those who walk the Maker's path, not a time for retribution," the Grand Cleric said above the murmurs in the chamber. "We must all remember the Maker's tenets regarding mages and those who do not follow the Chant of Light. The belief that magic must serve and never rule is a foundation of our beliefs. Let us show patience and mercy to those who uphold and spread His teachings, not persecute them." The Grand Cleric paused for a moment, her gaze flowing over those gathered. "Think of the consequences to you and your people if you continue down this path. Think of what will happen if we do not continue our efforts to spread the Chant of Light to all four corners of the world. The Divine does not wish to see this nation fall to the corruption of evil and magic."

Shouts of support for the Steward and the Teyrn's words were only slightly louder than the shouts in favor of mercy for Eamon. Emphatic shouts soon turned into angry bellowing as each person fought to be heard over all the others. Alistair raised his hands high, beseeching those gathered to quiet themselves while he spoke. After several moments, silence fell upon the chamber with all eyes turned forward to regard the King.

"Thank you to both Steward Cauthrien and Teyrn Fergus for your words today; as the head of the two largest teyrnirs in the nation, your word holds a great deal of sway." He then turned to the Grand Cleric, respectfully nodding to her. "Your Grace, I have a great deal of faith in the Maker and what He wishes of us. We are all on His path and He has an infinite number of paths for us. My path and your path can be very similar, or they can be vastly different. While we hold the Chant of Light in high regard, Ferelden is not a theocracy, Your Grace. Governance of this nation cannot be based solely on the Chant of Light."

The Grand Cleric frowned deeply, but did not move to retort. Alistair sighed; knowing Her Grace, a report of these proceedings would likely be on the way to the Divine before the sun set on another day. _Well, we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it._ Alistair turned his gaze to Eamon, an expression of sadness and grim determination on his face.

"Arl Eamon Guerrin, it is clear that you have committed grave misdeeds in the days leading up to the Blight and beyond, deeds that cannot go without consequence. You may have a noble title and lands, but that does not excuse your actions nor exempt you from the punishment of your peers and the Crown." Alistair paused, beckoning his chamberlain forward, ceremonial staff in hand. The chamberlain thumped the staff on the floor three times in preparation of the King's pronouncement.

"The diversion of the armies from the capital, negligence in preventing a murder plot from coming to fruition, and the attempted usurping of the Crown are all grievous offenses subject to the ultimate punishment." Alistair paused, looking pointedly at Loghain for a moment before speaking again. "However, I have also learned the power of mercy, for it brought Loghain back from the brink and made him a better man for it. I never thought it would happen, but it did, and now I hope the same for you."

Alistair took a deep breath, returning his gaze to the Arl before him. "It is the judgment of the Crown that you be removed as Arl of Redcliffe effective immediately. The Crown will not sentence you to the ultimate punishment of death; however, you will be exiled from Ferelden under pain of death if you should return. You will be escorted by the royal army to Redcliffe, where you will be given one week to conclude your affairs and leave. You will then be escorted to West Hill, where you shall board a ship for the Free Marches." Alistair lowered his voice, a small amount of sympathy entering it. "I know you still have relatives there. I think it would be best for you to return to them."

The Arl snorted loudly, his brow furrowing in anger and resentment at the King. "I would rather you escort me to the border with Orlais."

"Have someone there, do you?" Loghain asked, a sneer crossing his face as Eamon turned to glare at him. "Running to your Orlesian harpy? Is she in Orlais waiting for you?"

"Where _my wife_ may or may not be is none of _your_ concern, Loghain."

"Enough," Alistair said, his voice a sharp bark. "Let it be carried out as the Crown has commanded." The chamberlain thumped his staff on the floor three times, making the pronouncement official. Alistair waved several of his guardsmen forward. "Escort Eamon to his compound within the city. Allow him to gather his things and then take him to Redcliffe. I expect regular updates from you as the sentence is carried out."

Loghain reached out and grasped Eamon's arm, pointedly staring into the other man's eyes. "If you and your _Orlesian _conspire against my wife again, no borders shall keep you safe. I will spend every last coin I have and expend every remaining breath to hunt you down like the beast you are."

Eamon jerked his arm from Loghain's grip, lowering his voice to little more than a growl. "We shall see, _commoner_."

As the guardsmen escorted Eamon from the chamber, Alistair turned his attention to the assembly. "Let us not end this Landsmeet on a negative note, but instead return name and honor to one who had it removed unjustly. The Crown decrees that the Arling of Redcliffe remain in Guerrin hands, with the honorable Teagan Guerrin installed as Arl of Redcliffe, effective immediately. What say you all? Shall we return name and honor to this man?"

Nods and shouts of affirmation filled the chamber as Alistair turned to Teagan, holding a hand out to him. "Not how I would have imagined it, 'Uncle', but there is no better person for the title than you. Will you pick up the mantle of leadership again and restore Redcliffe to glory?"

Teagan reached out and shook Alistair's hand with a curt nod of his head. "I would be honored to serve you… 'nephew'."

"Excellent," Alistair said as a smile crossed his face. He leaned forward, his voice low so that only those nearby could hear it. "Wait a few days before leaving for Redcliffe, just to give time for my men to get Eamon out of there. I will also send a number of soldiers with you to replace those you lost." He gave Teagan a knowing wink. "They make the law legal."

As Lhiannon watched the nobles break off into small groups to chat or file out of the Landsmeet chamber, she removed a gauntlet and brought her hand up to massage the tension from the muscles at the back of her neck. _Who would have thought I would miss battling darkspawn?_

* * *

_Suilven and I had a discussion (not to mention some cyber eye-poking at David Gaider) regarding the spelling of "Guerein" and "Guerrin." I started off using the spelling "Guerein" from "The Stolen Throne," though "Guerrin" is what is referenced in-game and all over the Wiki. I decided that I would make the change in spelling to go with the form that is more prevalent. Nice continuity, Bioware. As much as I love your work, you drive me nuts some days._

_The Denerim story arc is just about done. Soon, the Wardens will be on the road again. I can't wait to get there! I've had a chapter (or two) regarding the road trip written for about nine months now. It will be nice to finally catch up to it, though it does need some tweaking after so long.  
_

_Bonus cookies for who knows which movie this line comes from: **"They make the law legal."**  
_

_I have a new sketch out on my DA page for you Morrigan fans (remove the spaces, of course). http: /josielange. deviantart. com/#/d4k9ihq _

_Loads of thanks to go reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, xseikax, Darkchubb, Suilven, JackOfBladesX, Shakespira, Arsinoe, Reyavie, Wyl, cloud1004, naomis8329, Tyanilth, and Jessie Long. I always smile when I see your names in my inbox. You all help keep me on the straight and narrow! :)_

_Thanks as well to all of you hanging out in the background. Happy New Year to you all!  
_


	46. The Wardens' Chores

_**Extra special thanks to Suilven for helping me out with this chapter! You rock, my friend!  
**_

* * *

It was not home, but Lhiannon felt a profound sense of relief at returning to the Warden compound within the palace district. There was one more day of informal gatherings before the activities surrounding the Landsmeet officially drew to a close. Marriages would be arranged, properties bought and sold, and other agreements would be negotiated amongst the nobility within the great chamber. The King and Queen would be present to settle any small disagreements or give advice to those who wished it. It was not a requirement to attend and for that, Lhiannon found herself deeply grateful. She had collapsed into bed not long after the sun had set, the exhaustion from all the stresses of the Landsmeet finally catching up with her.

The dining hall within the compound was bustling with activity once Lhiannon roused herself the following morning to join them. Plates with mountains of biscuits were scattered atop the long table, quickly growing empty as hungry Wardens snatched them up. Bowls of steaming sausage gravy and pots of honey also passed hands. Lhiannon saw several pieces of fresh fruit as well and creamy hunks of butter and platters of eggs and meat. Apparently, the kitchen staff wanted to use up as much of the perishable food as possible before the Wardens left Denerim.

Lhiannon took her place at the head of the table, smiling in greeting to her Wardens and sergeants. Loghain sat to her right and favored her with a raised brow as she poured herself a cup of fragrant tea. "Decided to join the rest of Ferelden today, have we?" Lhiannon shot him a smirk over the rim of her cup before looking out over her people once more.

The pale pallor Lhiannon had observed on Raelyn's face the day before had disappeared, no doubt chased away by a hearty meal, a restful night's sleep, and Anders at her side. Sigrun sat between Raelyn and Oghren, her appetite having returned after her ordeal in crossing Ferelden. She took second—and third—helpings of the savory sausage gravy, little groans of pleasure escaping her lips as she ate. Oghren sat at the far end of the table, shaking his head and grunting at Sigrun's tale of her journey across Ferelden. Maverlies and Joanna also sat at the table, seemingly eating very little compared to the ravenous Wardens around them. Lhiannon watched Oghren point at Joanna's plate with his fork, asking her "Ya gonna eat that?"

At Lhiannon's nod, Loghain banged the top of the table with his open palm, calling for order amongst those present. They looked to Lhiannon at the head of the table, questioning expressions on their faces as they patiently waited for her to speak.

"Today will be our last full day in Denerim," Lhiannon began, her gaze falling to each person present. "As such, we will need to wrap up our affairs here before we leave for the Brecilian Forest and the Dalish camp."

"How can we help, Commander?" Sigrun asked. A smile crossed the perky dwarf's face. "I know I'm ready to get on the road again. I'm sick of being cooped up like a nug in a cage."

"I'm glad you asked, Sigrun." Lhiannon grinned, taking a sip of her honeyed tea. "You and Sergeant Joanna will be accompanying me to the Alienage today. I need to speak to Hahren Valendrian about recruiting elves for the Wardens."

"Sweet!"

Turning her gaze to Oghren, Lhiannon continued. "Oghren, you and Loghain will be taking a trip to Fort Drakon for recruiting. I want you to look for people you think will benefit from your… _unique_, talents."

Anders scoffed lightly, a playful grin crossing his features. "You mean 'drinking people under the table' talents?"

"Jealous, sparklefingers?" Oghren chuckled, taking a hearty gulp from the tankard in front of him.

"Of what? Smelling like a walking brewery? Or whatever you dwarves use to brew that nasty shit you call ale?"

"I'd rather smell like a lichen brewery than smelling like I fart flowers."

"So, smelling like slightly used lichen ale is manly?"

"Says the one wearing a skirt."

Lhiannon rolled her eyes, holding up a hand to halt their lighthearted bickering. "Anders and Raelyn: you will go to 'The Wonders of Thedas' and pick up the supplies I ordered. If they're not ready, find out if they will be by tomorrow; we can always get them on our way out of the city." Lhiannon took a sip of her tea, glancing out the window to judge the time. It was not long after sunrise, but the day promised to be busy. "Let's all finish our meal and get moving. When you're finished with your duties, come back to the Compound and help prepare for the trip south."

* * *

Lhiannon waited outside the dining hall after she finished her meal, wanting to speak with Raelyn in private before she, Sigrun, and Joanna left for the Alienage. She did not have to wait long before Anders and Raelyn exited the dining hall, arms linked together and talking amongst themselves. They both paused when they saw Lhiannon stand to greet them. "Anders, I'd like to speak with Raelyn for moment."

Whenever Lhiannon used his full name, Anders knew she was all business. "Yes, Commander." He nodded, giving Raelyn's arm a light squeeze. "I'll be waiting for you in my chambers. We'll leave for the marketplace as soon as you're ready." He leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss on Raelyn's cheek before nodding to Lhiannon and moving off.

Lhiannon held out a hand, beckoning Raelyn to walk with her; the other mage fell into stride beside her. "Raelyn, I think it best to have you return with the recruits to Vigil's Keep while the rest of us travel to the Brecilian Forest."

The temperature between them seemed to plummet instantaneously. "Any reason why, Commander?" Raelyn asked, her voice as cool as the air between them. Lhiannon stopped, turning to place a hand on Raelyn's arm. The other mage turned to her and Lhiannon could see the burn of tears in her eyes despite the coolness of her voice and the anger that pulsed through the taint between them. Raelyn stepped back, breaking the contact between them.

"It isn't that I doubt your abilities, Raelyn; not at all." Lhiannon took a deep breath; this was a part of command that she hated. "You have been through quite an ordeal and I think home is what you need right now, not battling darkspawn or trudging through the Brecilian Forest."

"I will be just fine, Commander. Most of my injuries have completely healed, thanks to Anders. I can do my duty."

"Your physical injuries have healed, yes," Lhiannon said, nodding in agreement. "However, there are other injuries that need more than just magic or potions and poultices to heal. I need someone to accompany the Wardens back to Vigil's Keep. I've chosen you."

Raelyn scoffed. "Why not send Oghren back? You would take his drunken ass on this mission?"

"Oghren—and this new Dalish Warden, Anwen—are to escort us to the breach—"

"Why not send Sigrun back? She's probably exhausted from traveling—"

Lhiannon's eyes narrowed as she slashed her hand through the air. "Enough, Warden Raelyn. _You _will escort the recruits back to Vigil's Keep and help Warden Nathaniel and Seneschal Varel with whatever duties they ask of you. Those are my orders and I expect you to follow them."

Lhiannon watched Raelyn clench her jaw. Lhiannon could hardly blame her; Raelyn wanted to be useful, not be sent off on little more than a babysitting mission. A small sigh escaped Lhiannon's lips. "Look, Raelyn, can you honestly tell me that you want to trudge through eastern Ferelden right now? You've been on the road for a while. Don't tell me the recent weeks haven't taken a toll on you."

The tension ebbed slightly as Raelyn brought a hand up to her head, wincing as her fingers massaged her temple. "Look, Commander. I apologize for being curt, but I _need_ to feel useful. I don't want you to coddle me over this."

"You _will_ be useful to me at Vigil's Keep. You know the risks of the Joining and I'll need a mage with more experience than Jowan there in case healing needs to be done." Lhiannon paused, a small smirk pulling on the corner of her mouth after a moment. "Besides, there's another reason I want you to have some downtime at Vigil's Keep. I need a mage to accompany me to Kinloch Hold after we seal this breach. Irving and Greagior would have kittens if I turned up with either Anders or Jowan."

A moment of silence passed between the two mages before Raelyn crossed her arms and chuckled. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't interested in seeing _that_."

With Raelyn's chuckle, the tension between them melted away like ice on a summer day.

* * *

It was Lhiannon's experience with Orzammar that taught her that most dwarves had an irrational fear of the surface lands. They thought they would fall into the sky, screaming and reaching for the stone in vain as they flew farther and farther away. Others thought the sun would come crashing down upon them, scorching and burning everything it touched until nothing was left but blackened cinders. The stone was solid, cool, and safe.

Sigrun had quickly become the exception to the rule.

While she still held some fear of being off the ground, Sigrun had taken to the surface lands easily. Her curiosity about trees, rain, wind, and life outweighed any fear she might have felt at coming to the surface. Lhiannon watched as Sigrun's head moved from side to side, taking in the stone and wood buildings that lined the streets of Denerim's market district.

"Ancestors' tits! I never knew cities could be this large," Sigrun said, gazing at the spire of Fort Drakon in the distance. "I mean, this place is _huge!"_

Sergeant Joanna gave a small chuckle at the dwarf's enthusiasm at studying the city around her. "Denerim isn't the largest city in Thedas either, Sigrun. Starkhaven and Cumberland are _really_ huge_._"

"I want to see them!"

"I'd like to see Cumberland one day," Lhiannon said, leading Joanna and Sigrun closer to the gates of the Alienage. "The College of Magi is in Cumberland; I've always wanted to go there and see it for myself."

"Why don't you, Lhi?" Sigrun asked. "After we've dealt with the breach, I mean."

A small smirk crossed Sergeant Joanna's face. "Even the Commander of the Grey Wardens needs some time away now and then."

"Or a honeymoon," Sigrun added, her light giggle echoing off the walls of the Alienage.

The great wooden doors leading into the Alienage loomed before them, several city guards standing watch as Lhiannon, Sigrun, and Joanna approached. With a polite nod, the guards moved toward the small man door mounted into the larger door, pulling it open to allow the visitors through.

As the door closed behind them, Lhiannon scanned the Alienage around her. In many ways, the Alienage was a far different place than when she was last here with Loghain, Wynne, and Morrigan at her side. A number of buildings had been torn down, leaving gaping holes scattered throughout the slum with masses of weeds taking root in some while others were bare dirt. Other damaged buildings were either boarded up or left abandoned. _I could wring Alistair and Anora's necks for not doing more for the people here. They fought too—_

"Warden Commander!"

Lhiannon turned toward the voice calling out to her, smiling as she saw Valendrian approaching, leaning on an elaborately carved walking stick. His face looked more wizened that she remembered, his hair even lighter than before. Despite his frailer looking appearance, he still carried himself like the leader he was. He lifted a hand in greeting, giving Lhiannon a polite smile.

At Valendrian's side was Shianni, her hand hovering close to Valdendrian in case he needed her assistance. When she looked toward Lhiannon, the elf gave her a dark glare, brows furrowing and causing the frown lines in her pleasant face to grow deeper. Lhiannon sighed wistfully to herself. During the mad dash through Denerim on their way to kill the archdemon, Lhiannon and her companions had helped the elves defend the Alienage from an onslaught of darkspawn lead by a powerful general. When they had arrived, the elves were barely holding the creatures back at the gates. Lhiannon had later laughed to herself over the irony the gates held. The elves had looked upon the gates previously as obstacles meant to keep them _in;_ during the battle, they were fortifying those very obstacles to keep the darkspawn _out._ That, however, was not why Shianni had such a dark look on her face.

Loghain was.

* * *

_"'Tis foolish to stand here and debate," Morrigan said, her voice full of derision. "If they will not accept help when it is offered, leave them to their fate and let them deal with the darkspawn themselves."_

_Lhiannon watched the accusatory glares from the elves, their attention now squarely focused on Loghain. Of course the elves were incensed at seeing him there; Loghain had, after all, allowed their kin to be sold to the Tevinters to fund the war. If they wished, they could very easily take Loghain into custody. The elves far outnumbered the Grey Wardens and their companions. Lhiannon knew that without Loghain's power and expertise as a warrior, their chances of making it to Fort Drakon would be severely compromised. While Wynne and Morrigan were powerful mages, they were terribly vulnerable to physical attack, especially without a heavily armed warrior to divert attention from them. Lhiannon was still far too new to the concept of swordsmanship—arcane abilities or not—and she knew there was no way she could lead Wynne and Morrigan through scores of darkspawn alone. If the elves did apprehend Loghain, there was no time to backtrack to the gates and get either Oghren or Sten before continuing on. _No,_ Lhiannon thought to herself, her stomach opening into a yawning pit, _if the elves try to arrest Loghain, fighting will come to pass; what a terrible waste. I cannot allow them to take Loghain. We _need_ him, and the elves do too, as much as they loathe the idea. There's no time!

_Loghain held his sword pointed to the ground in a seemingly relaxed posture, but Lhiannon knew that it would only take a split second for him to bring it to the ready. She quickly looked to Valendrian and Shianni, sheathing her sword and holding her hands out in supplication. "We haven't the luxury of time, Valdendrian. The darkspawn are at your gates. They will break through in moments, and when they do, all will be lost in the Alienage. Help us; let _us_ help _you._ All else can wait until after the archdemon dies."_

_As if on cue, the roar of the archdemon overhead caused many of the elves to flinch and cover their ears, looks of blind panic crossing their faces. The beast swooped low over part of the city, breathing dark fire onto its victims. Over the roar of flames, darkspawn could be heard pounding on the gates. Elves shrieked in terror. "We can't hold them!"_

_Valendrian sighed, his shoulders drooping as he watched the archdemon soar in the sky. Shianni clutched at his arm, whispering urgently into her hahren's ear. She pointed accusingly to Loghain; Lhiannon heard the words 'shemlen' and 'execution' in the same breath. _Don't be foolish, Shianni_, Lhiannon thought. _If your way comes to pass, there will be blood. There isn't time to fight…

"_Perhaps fighting with and for those he so thoughtlessly sold will help show your companion how very wrong he was," Valendrian said, his voice grave. Shianni took a breath to speak, but Valendrian held up a hand to stay her anger. "So long as he fights for us against the darkspawn, it is well. Now is not the time for retribution, though fear not, Shianni." Lhiannon watched as Valdendrian leveled his gaze at Loghain once more. "Treachery will be rewarded with death. While we tolerate your presence at the moment, I cannot say if we will be so tolerant the next time."_

_Loghain nodded his understanding. At that moment, the crack of splitting wood filled the Alienage as did the shouts of fear and anger. Lhiannon took a deep breath, nodding toward Valendrian and Shianni before beckoning her companions forward. "Come! We've darkspawn to fight!"_

* * *

Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Lhiannon bowed her head in greeting to Hahren Valendrian and Shianni, turning to introduce Sigrun and Joanna beside her. The elves nodded politely to her companions before returning their attention to Lhiannon. "Why are you here?" Shianni asked, her voice demanding and as cold as the depths of winter.

"I have come with my companions seeking recruits for the Grey Wardens. I was honored to fight at your side during the battle against the archdemon. I would be honored to have some of your kin amongst us."

Shianni waved off Lhiannon's words with crisp flick of her wrist. "Spare me the platitudes, Warden Commander. What I want to know is this: why did you spare that traitor… and then have the nerve to bring him here?"

The tension between them rose until it was nearly a physical presence, oppressive and smothering. Lhiannon cast her glance toward Valendrian, who was content to watch the proceedings with little more than a cocked eyebrow. It appeared he was going to let the scene between Shianni and Lhiannon play out; he had held Shianni's anger during the fight against the archdemon, but now he was going to let her have her say. A slight squeaking of armor could be heard as Sigrun shifted nervously on her feet. Joanna stood straight, her hands clasped behind her back as she watched the proceedings warily.

"I _conscripted _Warden Loghain because the Grey Wardens needed him," Lhiannon said, choosing her words carefully. "The Grey Wardens were all of three at the Landsmeet and with Alistair becoming King, we were down to two once more. The harsh fact was that we _needed_ Loghain's skill as a tactician and leader of armies—"

"_Need_," Shianni said, spitting down at Lhiannon's feet. She stepped closer, pointing an accusatory finger at Lhiannon. "You _needed_ him to fight the armies. We have heard of your little 'arrangement' with that dirty slaver. It's more likely you _needed_ him to warm your bed! I had thought better of you, Warden Commander, but you're nothing more than a collaborating _shem! _We should have executed him the minute you brought him into the Alienage. He defiles and offends us by his very existence!_"_

"Peace, Shianni," Valendrian said, his calm voice breaking through the tension surrounding those gathered. He turned his attention back toward Lhiannon. "I apologize for Shianni's outburst, Warden Commander. However, she had very legitimate questions for you. She is right in that your reputation among us is tarnished somewhat by not only having spared the man that destroyed so many of our families, but also by uniting with him in marriage. You must understand our position."

Once again, Lhiannon found herself explaining the reasons _why_ she had spared Loghain at the Landsmeet. While Valendrian had no doubt heard the tales by now, it was likely he wanted to hear Lhiannon's reasons first hand, as stories tended to morph while being passed from person to person. After so much time, Lhiannon found herself irritated at the prospect of explaining herself _again_.

"As I am sure you have heard—partially from myself and most likely from others—that I spared Warden Loghain because the Grey Wardens needed him. While his execution would have sated the short term needs of the nation, we have all benefited from having his life spared. There were no other reasons, and certainly _not_ because I had romantic intentions toward him." Lhiannon paused briefly, her lips pursing as she thought about a way to explain to the elves just _why_ making Loghain join the Grey Wardens was not without risk; she wanted recruits from the Alienage and knowing the dangers of the Joining could dissuade the elves from allowing her to recruit from their ranks. Lhiannon felt hypocritical for keeping such secrets, but saw no other alternative. "There were also other extenuating circumstances surrounding Warden Loghain's conscription. I hope you will forgive me for not speaking of such matters, as they are internal affairs of the Grey Wardens."

Shianni scoffed loudly, her disbelief very clear. "And does _Warden_ Loghain regret what he has done? Does he regret ripping apart families forever? Leaving children to be orphaned? Leaving elderly parents to mourn their children as they were sold into slavery to feed _Warden_ Loghain's ambitions and fill his coffers?"

"Warden Loghain is not one to dwell on regrets; rather, he believes it is better to move forward and serve this nation as best he can. As a Grey Warden, he can do that."

Silence fell between the two groups, the tension among them still strong. The breeze through the leaves of the vhenadhal tree fell still and the birds within its branches ceased their twittering as if it were the calm before a storm. The hustle and bustle of the marketplace faded to a faint drone in the distance.

Valendrian turned his face toward the sun, closing his eyes as the rays washed over his aged face. Lhiannon saw him breathe deeply, a small smile of contentment crossing his features. After a moment a cloud crossed the face of the sun and Valendrian broke from his momentary reverie.

"What is done is done," Valendrian said, his voice low yet full of quiet conviction. "It is a man's actions that tell the true story; words are simply words. I will accept that since Warden Loghain did help turn back the Blight, it is the first step in his redemption. I cannot say if he will ever be completely absolved in the eyes of the elves."

Lhiannon felt herself bristle internally at Valdendrian's words. In her eyes, Loghain had taken huge strides in making amends for his past actions. She knew, however, her judgment was colored by her relationship and marriage to the man they had vilified. The elves had been treated as little more than vermin for centuries, even expecting such treatment from humans. Having their kin sold into Tevinter slavery was just another example of such deplorable behavior.

Before Lhiannon could consider her next words to Valendrian and Shiannni, it was the hahren that spoke first. "It would be an honor to see our kin welcomed into the ranks of the Grey Wardens. Perhaps they can help dispel the myths of elves being little more than barely paid servants and a general nuisance to humans."

Lhiannon heard Joanna shuffle a bit on her feet, no doubt irritated by the hahren's words. Lhiannon quickly glanced at Joanna, silently ordering her sergeant to be still. "Being a Grey Warden is a calling, Hahren. It isn't something to be considered lightly. Fighting the darkspawn is dangerous work; it is a calling. As much as I am grateful for the assistance of your people, the Grey Wardens are not propagandists."

The air cooled several degrees as Shianni crossed her arms over her chest and glared while Valendrian's eyes narrowed at Lhiannon. "I know that, Warden Commander. Having Alienage elves among your order will still help dispel the unfair prejudices against our people. I ask for a few hours to gather my people at the vhenadhal tree and put forward your request. In the meantime, you are free to explore the Alienage at your leisure."

Shianni led them to several small benches scattered around the vhenadhal tree, sitting as far away from the humans as she could. Sigrun sat next to Shianni, asking questions about the Alienage around them. While Shianni's answers were short and curt at first, she began to speak more openly as Sigrun continued to ask her questions, curious about the history of the elves and their traditions. As they spoke, Sigrun began to understand that the elves were not so much different than the Dusters in Orzammar. The only major difference was that the elves saw the humans as their oppressors—and Sigrun could understand why—while the Dusters were oppressed by their own; oppressed by dwarves and the rigid caste society that they held in reverence.

Little by little, elves began to emerge from their homes. Sometimes it was several generations emerging from the same home, the wizened faces of grandparents mingling with the exuberance of youth. Mothers carried young children in their arms. Fathers held small hands within their own. Young men and women just barely into adulthood came forward, sometimes sticking their heads into other buildings and calling out to their friends and kin. The small square around the vhenadhal tree soon came alive as the elves drew near, their light chattering echoing off the surrounding buildings and becoming a droning buzz.

As soon as Valendrian climbed the stairs of the small platform near the tree, the elves grew quiet, their attention focused on their hahren. Valendrian beckoned the humans and dwarf forward with a small gesture, all eyes following them as they moved to stand near him.

"Many of you recognize this woman as the Warden Commander of the Grey Wardens, the Hero of Ferelden and the one who bravely fought the darkspawn with us. Today, she comes to us for our assistance. The Grey Wardens need our help. Their ranks are small and the Warden Commander has asked us to aid them in their vital cause. You have seen with your own eyes what the darkspawn have wrought."

Valendrian paused to gather his thoughts, watching as the elves nodded their heads in agreement or stared off into the distance, no doubt remembering those dark days when the darkspawn and archdemon had laid waste to Denerim. More would have died had the Wardens not pursued the darkspawn and their leaders to the Alienage gates.

"Their work is hard. Their work is dangerous, but the darkspawn are even more so. Though the Blight has ended, the Grey Wardens' duty has not."

Lhiannon stepped forward to stand next to Valendrian. "I have come to ask your hahren for volunteers to join our order. We need fighters and those skilled in hunting and stalking. Not all who come forward will be invited to join us. Those that volunteer will be thoroughly tested at our compound at Vigil's Keep in the arling of Amaranthine. Those that do not pass the tests can return to the Alienage." Lhiannon fought to keep a grimace from her face as she spoke. While a number of elves would likely return to the Alienage tired and disappointed, they would fare better than those who took the ultimate test and failed. _I feel like such a hypocrite; they _should_ know the risks of joining the Grey Wardens, but if they _did _know, would any volunteer?_

"What about mages?" a voice called out from the crowd. "Will you accept them?"

"Yes," Lhiannon said, a small grin on her face as she conjured a small ball of ice and hurled it into the air, where it shattered into tiny fragments to fall upon the elves as snowflakes. Several children gasped and squealed with delight as they reached up to catch the flakes in their tiny hands, watching as they melted with the heat of their skin. "Mages are most definitely welcome within the Grey Wardens. They, too, will be tested."

"You need volunteers _now?_" another voice called out from the crowd. "Some of our young'uns are working in the city. Not fair to exclude them!"

"You need not decide immediately," Lhiannon explained as her eyes moved through the crowd. "Those that decide right away can accompany us to the Warden compound today. We will be in Denerim for only part of the day tomorrow, so volunteers may report there in the morning. After tomorrow, it will be a few weeks before we pass through Denerim again on our way home. I will speak with the Hahren again then."

After a brief moment of quiet muttering, another voice rose above them. "What about families?"

Lhiannon paused for a moment, considering her answer. She knew from reading what literature she had on the Grey Wardens that few had families; their duty and taint shortened lifespans often precluded such blessings. It might be cruel to have the taint take the Wardens in the prime of their lives, but would it be crueler to deny them the love and companionship of their families? Lhiannon found it hard to justify denying those with families from joining them if their hearts were set on becoming a Grey Warden. She could, however, make them wait until the Joining ceremony was complete to summon their families. There was no sense in having families come right away only to have them sent back to the Alienage in mourning. _Maybe those Wardens' families can bring more business to Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine. We could always use those. If my Wardens and I are going to challenge traditions, why stop now?_

"We don't have much in the way of family accommodations at Vigil's Keep, but I'm sure we could find some lodging for them. I will, however, forbid families from joining the candidates until after the training is complete. At that point, the families can be sent for." _I hope._

The echo of Lhiannon's voice carried off into the Alienage, growing fainter as it passed by the buildings. After several moments of near silence, Valendrian dismissed the elves after asking that any volunteers seek him or the Warden Commander out. As the majority of the crowd moved away, two young elves came forward. Lhiannon heard Shianni take a sharp intake of breath as the elves—a young woman and man—came forward and nodded reverently at Valendrian.

"Nesiara," Shianni said, her voice a low, sharp bark, "what do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm volunteering."

Lhiannon nodded toward the young elf. "I'm Warden Commander Lhiannon Amell-Mac Tir—" Shianni's sharp snort at Lhiannon's name earned her a quiet rebuke from Valendrian. "—I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

Nesiara Biscal tilted her head politely to Lhiannon as she introduced herself. She was originally from the Highever Alienage, having been sent to Denerim to be married to Shianni's cousin, Darrian Tabris. On the day of their wedding, Shianni, Nesiara, and two other elves were apprehended and brutalized by Bann Vaughan Kendalls while he and several of his thug friends sought 'entertainment.' Darrian Tabris and another of his—and Shianni's—cousins, Soris, had followed the Bann and rescued the women.

"Unfortunately, Darrian was killed in the fight," Nesiara said, her eyes sliding away and a hitch coming to her voice. "Though we hardly knew each other, I was touched by his bravery. I told him I loved him as he lay dying in my arms. And in that moment, I did."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Lhiannon said. "But what of your family in Highever? Do they not wonder what happened to you?"

"I have heard nothing from my family since I left. I have only heard rumors and bits of information from other elves that pass through. Since Rendon Howe's conquering of the teyrnir, nothing has been heard from the alienage there."

Valendrian nodded sadly at Nesiara's words. "We have heard that the alienage was devastated in the fighting and that many of those who survived were driven out of the city or sold to Tevinter slavers."

"In any case," Nesiara continued, "I have nothing now; my family would have done anything to send word if they were all right and with no word, my heart tells me they are gone. Only the graciousness and support of Darrian's family has kept me sane. I'd rather fight for a noble cause than pine away here in the Alienage living off the charity of others."

"What are your skills?" Joanna asked, her soldier's eye taking in Nesiara's lithe form. "The Wardens cannot afford to take charity cases."

In the blink of an eye, Nesiara had pulled two daggers from beneath her tunic, springing forward to settle one blade at Joanna's neck while she held the other slightly out to her side in a threatening manner. Shianni snickered from where she stood nearby. "Nesiara is hardly a charity case."

"I see that, " Joanna said, her eyes flicking downward between the blades. "Mind sheathing the stickers now before the guards see you? These are illegal and I'd rather not have to deal with the authorities."

With a small smile, Nesiara hid her daggers once more, stepping back to stand in front of Lhiannon. "May I at least accompany you to Vigil's Keep for testing?"

"You may, " Lhiannon said in agreement, turning her attention to the young man in front of her. He had hair so blond as to be almost white, mussed and nearly standing upright in spots. He was tall for an elf, nearly as tall as Lhiannon herself but with a wiry musculature. He nodded politely to Lhiannon. "Greetings, Warden Commander. I am Gaven Willot. I fought for the elves during the battle of Denerim, but not hard enough. My entire family died at the hands of the darkspawn."

"I am so sorry."

Gaven bowed slightly. "Thank you, Warden Commander. I do not think I need to tell you why I want to join the Grey Wardens. I will gladly give you my sword if you will have me."

Joanna eyed Gaven warily. "Swords are also illegal in the Alienage; how do you have the opportunity to train with one?"

Gaven smirked. "You honestly don't think we are weaponless here, do you? Or deny ourselves the opportunity to train?"

Lhiannon grinned to herself. _Clever and opportunistic. Promising traits. Well, we'll have to see if their skills match their confidence._ "Then gather your things; you'll come with us back to the Warden compound."

* * *

The Warden Compound was blessedly quiet as Lhiannon and her small entourage arrived, at least at first glance. As Lhiannon entered the compound, she saw Loghain standing in the center of the audience hall, Oghren standing just behind him with his arms crossed over his broad chest. Both Wardens had their attention focused on several guests, the templar armor on one of them unmistakable. Lhiannon turned to Joanna, asking her to show the two elven candidates to the barracks. Sigrun moved to the shadows, seeking to watch the guests from a discrete distance. As Lhiannon moved toward the small gathering, she saw two mages within the small circle; a grin quickened on her face as she recognized one of them as Rigana. Lhiannon called out a greeting as she moved to Loghain's side.

"Warden Commander," Ser Hadley said, nodding in greeting, "I and Senior Enchanters Rigana and Ines wanted to speak to you before you left Denerim on your quest."

Lhiannon felt her brow quirk upward at Hadley's statement. It was at that moment that she realized one person from their small entourage was missing. "Oh? What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"Ser Cullen was deeply disturbed by the Crown's proclamation to found a second Circle at Highever with limited Chantry oversight," Hadley said, his expression becoming troubled.

Lhiannon sighed in resignation as Loghain snorted lightly beside her. "Is it because of what happened at Kinloch Hold during the civil war and Blight?

Hadley bowed his head once. "I believe so, Warden Commander. You know as well as I that Cullen was deeply disturbed by what happened to him there. Since that day, he has looked upon mages very differently."

Ines snorted. "He believes all mages are blood mages waiting to happen; that we are no one's friends.

Lhiannon ran a hand over her braided hair, sighing sadly. Cullen was the templar that had watched over her during her Harrowing. She and Cullen had been friendly in the years approaching her Harrowing and she had learned during Uldred's usurping of the tower that he had had a crush on her. Lhiannon had always wondered if that had been the case as he had often blushed and stammered his words slightly as he had spoken to her in the weeks leading up to her Harrowing. She had always found him to be a likeable templar, but she also knew that his imprisonment by Uldred and his followers had scarred him, and not just physically. _No wonder he sees a second Circle as a threat_.

"I would be lying if I said I didn't share some of Cullen's concerns," Hadley said. "While most mages simply want to master their power for their benefit and the benefit of others, there are always those that will seek to use that power for personal gain."

"That's why we need only the most trustworthy mages and templars at this new Circle," Rigana said, nodding her agreement to Ser Hadley. "We cannot afford disruptive elements from either side to hinder progress there. This Circle must have the most exemplary behavior from _both_ sides if it is to succeed."

Hadley nodded once. "There are templars who will go to this new Circle feeling it is their duty to protect the mages from the outside world and vice versa."

"There are those that will seek to spread fear of and dissention to Highever and this new Circle," Loghain said. "Who is to say that neither hardline templars nor independence seeking mages will try to destabilize this new Circle? Not every circumstance can be anticipated."

Lhiannon quickly glanced about the room. Had Anders heard Loghain's remark, he likely would have bristled at it. "I think that's why this Circle should start small; maybe only a handful of apprentices, several senior mages, and enough templars for protection without it seeming like a prison. That's my opinion, anyway."

"The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander must make a joint decision on which mages and templars should be sent to Highever," Ines said, a finger twisting through a lock of her hair as she thought.

Rigana nodded in agreement. "Perhaps when Wynne returns from Cumberland, she may wish to join the new Circle at Highever."

Hadley glanced out a window, taking note of the fading daylight. "Unfortunately, there are templars who will not be happy at this small measure of freedom. I fear dissent will blossom within the templar order not unlike how the fraternities often caused a degree of division within the Circle. However, I will make sure I am included in Knight-Commander Greagoir's deliberations as to who should be assigned to this new Circle." Hadley paused for a moment, a look of melancholy crossing his face. "I will be saddened if Cullen does choose to leave Ferelden; he is a good man. The Maker has laid a difficult path for him but if this is what He asks of Cullen, then who am I to impede His will?"

Lhiannon nodded. "I've known Cullen for some time. He was at my Harrowing. I wish there was more I could have done for him. He was so… _distraught_… when I last saw him. Haunted." She bowed her head for a moment, sighing deeply as she raised her eyes to meet Hadley's. "Will you wish him well for me?"

"I will, Warden Commander."

Several moments of parting pleasantries ensued, with Lhiannon giving Rigana a tight hug and extending an invitation for her to visit Vigil's Keep as soon as she could. Rigana agreed on the condition that Lhiannon would visit her at Kinloch Hold the next time she was in western Ferelden. As Hadley, Rigana, and Ines took their leave, Loghain turned toward Lhiannon. "We have been summoned to the palace this evening."

Lhiannon felt her shoulders droop slightly; with the Wardens leaving Denerim the next day, she had hoped to spend their last night at the Warden compound relaxing. They would not have many opportunities to relax once they were traveling and Lhiannon had intended to take full advantage of this last night. She sighed quietly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "When?"

"The carriage will be here at the fifth bell to take us to the palace."

"I suppose there is no way of getting out of this?"

Loghain scoffed, gently taking Lhiannon by the arm and leading her toward their chamber. "None. Especially if it means spending time with my granddaughter again."

* * *

Loghain stood near the grand fireplace in the King and Queen's private dining room, staring into Nerys' wide blue eyes as Anora stood nearby. It was a joy to watch her father hold her tiny daughter, the worry lines and harsh expressions on his face softening as he and Nerys studied and silently learned about each other. Anora had to suppress a giggle; the thought of her father making silly faces and cooing sounds to Nerys as she grew more aware and expressive was something she had to see. Even now, as her father talked softly to Nerys, she could see his brows waggling slightly.

Dinner was brought into the private dining room not long after. As the servants brought dinner in, Loghain reluctantly handed a drowsy Nerys to her nursemaid. The table was soon overflowing with food, the servants well versed in the appetites of Grey Wardens.

After several minutes of sampling the variety of food on the table—and sating her raging appetite for the moment—Lhiannon took a small sip of wine and looked toward the King and Queen. "I've been thinking about Orzammar of late. Now that the Thaw is underway, the Deep Roads should be relatively quiet for the moment. I think this would be a good time for the Grey Wardens—and the surface folks in general—to help the dwarves retake the Deep Roads to Kal Sharok and secure any breaches with doors."

"Do you think King Harrowmont will agree to such a proposal?" Anora asked, daintily dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a cloth as she spoke. "While I understand his deshyrs and merchants caste have convinced him that trade with the surface was in their best interest, would he be willing to allow _human_ merchants and craftsmen into Orzammar? One will always bring the other."

"If the Grey Wardens are leading them, I suspect he may," Alistair said. "After all, he owes his crown to the Grey Wardens."

Lhiannon snorted loudly. "I'd say he owes us a favor—or two—for that."

"So long as they don't have to _spend_ any of their coin on surface folk," Loghain said, taking a draw from his tankard of ale. "They'll want to make sure more coin comes _in_ to Orzammar than goes out."

"Then we'll just have to remind him that a safer route between Orzammar and Kal Sharok will increase trade and improve relations between them and the surface," Lhiannon said as she pushed some of her food around her plate. "If sealing off the main route between the cities works, perhaps they can try to reclaim some of the outlying thaigs."

"Ambitious," Loghain said, his voice low and wary. "What you propose will take a great deal of wealth and manpower, both of which Ferelden doesn't currently have in abundance."

"Perhaps securing a shorter route would be best to begin with," Anora said. "What is the closest thaig to Orzammar?"

Alistair leaned back in his chair, hands crossed over his stomach as he thought. "Aeducan Thaig is closest. Ortan and Cadash Thaigs the next two beyond that."

"Then why don't we offer to help secure the Deep Roads between Orzammar and Aeducan Thaig to start?" Lhiannon asked, setting her fork down beside her plate. "The Wardens can accompany the dwarves to the thaig; our senses should be able to tell us which paths the darkspawn frequent. Those can be closed off first."

The room fell silent for several moments as those gathered either picked at their food or simply relaxed. After a brief respite, Alistair banged his open palm on the top of the table before pointing to Lhiannon with a smirk on his face. "It's settled, then. I'll have you take a message to King Harrowmont in Orzammar offering the assistance of the Grey Wardens and Ferelden in securing the path to Aeducan Thaig. Maybe after that, we can discuss a more permanent treaty with the dwarves."

As Alistair spoke, Lhiannon heard Loghain snort irritably from beside her. She understood his irritation. Looking to Alistair, she rolled her eyes and smirked. "Am I nothing more than a glorified messenger? This sounds an awful lot like the Blight where we had to do other people's errands for them."

A looked of feigned resignation crossed Alistair's face before he, too, began to smirk. "Aww… come on, Lhi. You know that as a Warden, your word will carry great weight with the dwarves, and with the King of Ferelden a Warden as well, that's to our benefit. Why not use that respect and status to our advantage?"

Loghain's indignant scoff filled the room. Everyone's attention turned to him and he met their gazes one by one. Finally, he rested his gaze on Alistair, his eyes narrowing. "It appears you have been an adept student of politics to be scheming in such a manner."

"Wha— no! I'm not— I mean…" Alistair's voice drifted off, a sheepish expression crossing his face. He chuckled, shaking his head slightly before running a hand through his hair in an obvious display of nervousness. "Well, maybe I've been a better student of Anora's than I thought."

"Speaking of politics, the formal pronouncement for the Dalish is ready for you," Anora said, taking a nip of her wine.

Alistair took a large gulp of ale, hoping it would relax him after Loghain's comment about scheming. Loghain was not entirely wrong in his observation, which made Alistair slightly uncomfortable. He hated feeling that way and also—to an extent—still hated when Loghain was right about such things. "And while you're in the Brecilian Forest, I'd like you to map out the areas affected by the Blight. Not only do I want to know what parts of the land are blighted, but I also don't want to offer it to the elves. It wouldn't be much of a grant if the land isn't useful."

Loghain tapped a finger on the tabletop. "And what of the Chantry? Will they not be constantly harassing the elves with missionaries first and then templars after?"

"I've thought about that," Alistair said, his face looking pained yet determined. "I have sent word to the Grand Cleric asking that they leave the elves in peace. I have heard nothing back as of yet; it's still too soon, I suppose."

"It's more likely that they will send your 'request' to Val Royeaux for the Divine's advice," Loghain said. "You likely won't hear anything until the Divine has seen it and met with her advisors."

"Even then, you may not hear anything," Lhiannon said, wiping her fingers with a bit of cloth and setting it on top of her empty place. "Hopefully, they won't try something silly."

Soon after, Anora called for Nerys to be brought back into the dining room for one last visit with her grandparents. Lhiannon had barely held Nerys for a moment when Loghain gently took the sleeping infant from her arms, cooing softly to her. Clearly, he was seeking every moment he could with her while they were in Denerim, knowing that it would likely be some time before he would see her again. After several moments of holding his granddaughter, Loghain passed Nerys off to the nursemaid, joining Lhiannon in saying his goodbyes to Anora and Alistair.

A light rain was falling as the carriage carried them through the palace district, the soft pattering of drops on the roof a comforting sound. Lhiannon and Loghain drew their cloaks tightly around them as they dashed through the rain and into the compound. It was quiet when they entered and shook the rain off their cloaks, the other Wardens having likely gone to their rooms early in preparation for leaving Denerim the following morning. Before she retired for the evening, Lhiannon wanted to make one last circuit of the compound to make sure all was in order for their departure. Leaving Loghain in their chambers, Lhiannon conjured a small light and began her last trip through the halls of the compound.

The hallways were quiet, the sound of her light footfalls broken only by the occasional murmured conversation beyond doors she passed or by the clanking of pots and pans in the dining area. She moved toward the entrance hall, nodding a greeting to the soldiers standing watch. A low fire burned in the nearby fireplace, lending wan light and heat to the room. As she passed the door, she heard a light knocking; someone outside gently using the metal knocker to sound their presence. The soldiers made to move to the door, but Lhiannon waved them back. She opened the door to see a cloaked figure standing on the doorstep, the rain running off the figure's cloak in rivulets. As she watched, the figure raised his hands to the hood of the cloak, pulling it back to reveal a gaunt, pale face with dark hair and a scraggly goatee.

Lhiannon felt her brows furrow. "Knight-Commander Harrith?"

"It's 'former Knight-Commander' now," Harrith said, brushing several drops of rain from his face. "May I speak with you, Warden Commander?"

"Of course. Come in out of the rain." Lhiannon moved aside, allowing Harrith to pass by her into the entryway. The soldiers stood nearby, hands on the hilts of their weapons as they watched the former templar enter. Lhiannon motioned Harrith toward the fireplace, where she leaned over to stir the coals.

"Forgive my bluntness, Harrith, but why are you here?"

Harrith stood as close to the fireplace as he dared, the heat from the fire causing his cloak to steam slightly. "I heard you were in Denerim for the Landsmeet. I wanted to offer my services to you."

Lhiannon stood abruptly, her face a mixture of wariness and surprise at Harrith's request. "Again, forgive my bluntness; but, why? I hardly think the Order will let you join the Grey Wardens."

"I am no longer part of the templar order," Harrith said, a sigh escaping his lips. "I was imprisoned and removed from the Order after my actions involving the Mages Collective were discovered."

Lhiannon's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the templar. "What about your lyrium, um, _need?_"

"There are other ways to procure lyrium." Harrith held his hands out in supplication. "I have nowhere else to go, Warden Commander. The Chantry won't take me and my family will be disgraced with my actions. Mercenaries aren't too fond of former templars either. I know you need more Wardens; _you_ know that my skills will be helpful against enemies with magical abilities."

Lhiannon had to admit, Harrith had a point. His smiting abilities would come in handy, as would his fighting skills. She knew that much from dealing with him and the Mages Collective. A part of her felt pity for the man; the Mages Collective had been decimated by Knight-Commander Tavish not long before and she could imagine him showing no mercy to those who had assisted them. _No wonder Tavish doesn't like me._

However, having what amounted to a lyrium addict in their midst was not the most comforting idea. Whenever Harrith accompanied them on a quest, he would need to have a supply of lyrium on hand. _Perhaps Andy can find a way to break Harrith of his addiction without all the nasty side effects. Nice job, Chantry; addict your adherents to keep them docile and compliant. And what is it with charity cases approaching the Wardens? I'm going to be meeting one soon enough, and here's yet another one presenting itself._

"I can't take every charity case that presents itself, Harrith. However, you do have a point; your skills would indeed be useful." Lhiannon sighed, rubbing her forehead with her hand. "All right; I'll send you to Vigil's Keep for testing. Prove yourself, and perhaps you can join the Grey Wardens. I make you no promises."

Harrith reached forward, taking one of Lhiannon's hands in her own. His skin was cool and clammy from the rain and his hands were shaking slightly. Whether the shaking was from lyrium withdrawal or a chill from the rain, Lhiannon did not know. "Thank you, Warden Commander. You may have saved my life."

_That's a little over the top, but whatever._ "I'll have one of the soldiers take you to the barracks. You will leave for Vigil's Keep in the morning."

* * *

"I'm _so _going to miss a bed."

Lhiannon sat on the edge of the bed in the Commander's chambers, pulling off one dress boot and tossing it toward the chest resting against the wall. Her fine clothes—what few she brought to Denerim—would be staying behind while they went to the Brecilian Forest. They planned on stopping in Denerim on the way back to Vigil's Keep, so they could be loaded onto the carts then. She saw no sense in taking such things along and taking up valuable space; they would need more important items than fancy boots and a fancy gown.

"You're getting soft."

Pulling her attention from the laces on her other boot, Lhiannon looked over her shoulder to where Loghain stood near the foot of the bed, unwinding the braids from his hair. A brow was quirked upward as he watched her, a grin pulling on the corner of his mouth. She snorted. "_I'm_ soft? Just how long did you go without sleeping in tents and bedrolls as Teyrn? Even on your journey from Gwaren to Denerim, I bet you stayed at inns. And if you didn't stay at an inn, you surely stayed at one of the small shelters along the Brecilian Passage. Even _they_ had beds."

"Sometimes. Oftentimes, I camped with my men. I wouldn't force them to endure conditions that I myself would not endure."

The second boot thumped on the floor as it found its place next to the first. "And how did you feel the next day? Don't tell me you slept like a baby in your bedroll after all that time sleeping in proper beds."

Lhiannon watched as Loghain smirked at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he came to stand before her. "Then perhaps we should take advantage of such a fine bed since we'll be sleeping in bedrolls on the hard ground for the next few weeks."

With another snort, Lhiannon poked her finger into Loghain's chest. "Don't change the subject. Answer—" Her protest died as Loghain pressed his mouth to hers, teasing her lips open with his tongue. She opened her mouth to him, her sigh of contentment swallowed by the languid exploration of her mouth by his tongue. He pulled away moments later, a smug grin on his face.

"Cheater," Lhiannon said, her voice breathless.

"Madam, I play to win. If such tactics give me an advantage, I will employ them." His lips returned to her skin, leaving a trail of kisses down her jaw and neck before moving back up to her ear. He ran his tongue along the sensitive outer shell, delighting in the gasps she gave him and how she pressed her body flush against his.

* * *

_Oh boy, this chapter just kept going and going. I usually split chapters when they get to be this long, but I wanted to get the Denerim arc DONE. This is definitely the longest chapter I've ever written!  
_

_In planning the flashback scene in the Alienage, I got lucky in that I had not addressed the battle there specifically in "Rend Asunder." So, I thought it would be a good place to reference it here as a little bit of background as to why Lhiannon and the elves aren't necessarily on warm and fuzzy terms. _

_For those of you following "Revelations," I am working on the next chapter and hope to have it to the beta soon. It's been a crazy few weeks. Since I last updated, I celebrated my 40th birthday, had my mother-in-law in the hospital, and found out that I'm pregnant for the very first time! _

_Big glomping hugs and thanks to reviewers xseikax, PhoenixFawkes310, Aura of Darkness Night, Suilven, naomis8329, Ventisquear, Oleander's One, Wyl, Arsinoe, JackOfBladesX, Shakespira, Gene Dark (Hooray! You're caught up!), DarkChubb, Reyavie, Jessie Long, and Tyanilth. Reyavie gets an extra big glomping hug for being review number **500!** There is NO WAY I thought I would ever get to 500 reviews for this story, so THANK YOU very much to all of you! I appreciate your support more than I could ever express!_

_Thanks as well to everyone else following along!  
_


	47. What's in a Name

_**Thanks to Suilven for turning her wonderful eye onto this chapter. You deserve a medal for cleaning up the mess! Personally, I blame typing on my cell phone (at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it!). Your suggestions, as always, were right on the money!  
**_

* * *

Zevran sat in the tiny kitchen of a small, nondescript row house on the edges of Val Royeaux's poorest human slum. His companion, Henri, sat across from him, using a small boot knife to carve into one of the two meat pies the men had picked up from a small bakery a few blocks away. Zevran ate his savoy—if bland—pie, watching Henri warily. The man had described the dwelling as a safe house, somewhere he and his comrades could safely go and not worry about the prying eyes and ears of others.

Since Henri had approached him and welcomed him into what he called "The Shadows" several days before, Zevran had tried to glean from the man just what it was "The Shadows" did. Zevran knew they were players in the Orlesian Game, but he had not been able to determine the extent or even exactly _what_ they did. Henri had tested Zevran on several occasions as they wandered the slums of Val Royeaux, setting several groups of thugs onto him in what was, no doubt, a test of Zevran's skills. Zevran had quickly discovered that Henri held the Crows in a level of contempt, no doubt thinking that the most junior Shadow was far more competent than an experienced Crow. _How droll._

Zevran, of course, intended to prove him wrong. He might not be an active assassin any longer, but Zevran had no intention of besmirching the reputation of the Antivan Crows.

"Well, Zevran, you have certainly proved yourself a capable sort in these last couple of days."

Zevran looked up from his dinner, a smug grin crossing his features. "I do my best. I do not wish to brag, but I was one of the most gifted assassins of my generation." _Well, maybe brag a little._

Taking another bite of his pie, Henri pointed his hunting dagger at Zevran in emphasis. "I think you will be a fine addition to our ranks. However, there is one important difference between the Shadows and the Crows, Zevran."

"Oh? And what would that be? Richer and saucier wenches at our disposal?"

Henri set his dagger down, wiping at his face with a cloth as he sat back in his simple chair with a chuckle. "The difference, Zevran, is that for the Crows, assassinations are just jobs. Simply contracts for money." Henri flipped his wrist nonchalantly as if brushing away an annoying insect. "Anyone with a modicum of skill can kill for money. For a Shadow, assassinations are _personal. _When assassination is called for, of course. It is all part of the Game, but also not all encompassing."

Zevran raised a brow, curious to hear more of Henri's tale regarding the differences between the Shadows and the Crows. _Anything to gain me more knowledge for our lovely Commander._

"Shadows are important, if largely unseen, players of the Game, moving pawns about like pieces on a game board. The crafty and sly survive. The rest are weak and therefore prey for the strong."

"And what of loyalty?" Zevran asked, taking another bite of his dinner. "The Crows are loyal to their cause. What of the Shadows?"

Henri chuckled lightly. "Loyalty leads to devotion, which can make one blind to the Game. Loyalty is just another commodity that can be bought and sold like any other piece of merchandise."

"I have to say, that is an unfamiliar concept," Zevran said, tapping a finger on the tabletop. "A Crow that sells their loyalty to the highest bidder usually ends up dead in a ditch somewhere."

"You _will_ become familiar with it." Pausing in his story for a moment, Henri took another bite of his pie. "Wealth, Zevran, is power. Wealth can buy loyalty, though it is also entertaining to watch the wealthiest of nobility come crashing down to earth, their dynasties in ruins around them. Such is the fate of those who fail to dance with the dowager."

Zevran felt his brows crinkle questioningly. _Dowager? _"So you work to undermine others in the Orlesian nobility?"

"If that is what the mission demands." Henri paused, taking his knife and pointing it emphatically at Zevran once again. "Know this, my Crow: above all else, Shadows further the goals of the Empire by whatever means necessary. If there is any loyalty within us, it is ultimately to the Empire itself. That being said, we further the goals of the Empire everywhere."

Zevran reached up and rubbed his chin, mulling over Henri's words. There was still so much about these so-called "Shadows" that Henri had not told him. With the Crows, there was a given contract with a specific goal outlined therein. They were loyal to their masters and the Crows as a whole, loyal to whatever cause they were _told _to be loyal to. The Shadows seemed to thrive on vagueness and generalities, calling it part of the Game. _Who have I gotten myself involved with? _The Orlesian sat quietly as Zevran thought, eating his pie and waiting for him to continue. "And what do you mean by 'everywhere', Henri?"

Henri once again chuckled lightly. "'Everywhere' refers to anyplace there is fortune or ruin to be gained for the good of the Empire. Everywhere there is power or the perception of power." Henri began to tap the top of the table with his finger in emphasis. "We are in every nation, in every major house, in every major organization or guild."

Zevran felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise, something that did not happen very often. Was Henri telling the truth, or simply being a braggart? Such openness among those of their kind was either one or the other from Zevran's experience. If he was telling the truth, then Henri was supremely confident in his abilities and of those around him. _Perhaps his overconfidence can be used against him._

"What of Ferelden?" Zevran asked, brushing several small crumbs off the top of the table. "We do know that Orlais and Ferelden have a rather colorful past and I'm sure there are those that seek to reclaim past glory."

Henri snorted, once again flipping his wrist indifferently. "Ah, it is almost too easy to be in Ferelden. They are nothing but simple dog lords who smell of their beasts' shit and piss."

Feeling his stomach twist slightly, Zevran hid his reaction behind the lip of his tankard, taking a long draw off the liquid within. If the Shadows were in Ferelden, they needed to know so that they could begin watching for them. Paranoia was not something Zevran wanted to plant the seeds for, but the Warden Commander and the Crown needed to be informed. But first, Zevran needed more information. Was there _really_ someone there, or was Henri simply telling a tall tale to sound impressive? Could he discover who was in Ferelden and what their mission was?

His first priority as a Shadow, then, was to find the answer to those questions.

* * *

The single lantern only barely chased back the gloom within the small room. Leliana sat on the plain coverlet of her simple bed, several books and sheets of parchment scattered around her. The coded note to the Warden Commander via Aura had been sent several days before, informing them of Isolde's movements within the Grand Cathedral and confirming that she had seen Courtier Clotaire Alune milling about. Her contacts within Val Royeaux had been unusually quiet about him, as if speaking of the man would cause him to manifest. She hoped Zevran was having better luck within the taverns of the city.

She had learned all she could about the weapon that had nearly taken Lhiannon from them: the Dagger of the Faithful. Someone had apparently smuggled it out of the Cathedral and had given it to Burne; that person had to have been Marjolaine, likely aided by Clotaire or someone else within the Cathedral. Sighing, Leliana set the book aside about the dagger, seeking to move on.

The next question she had pondered was the one concerning Greenwood Vale and its significance to the Chantry. So far, she had not found much in the way of Chantry literature on the small village, mainly just a registration of the local chantry's name, Revered Mother, and templars stationed there as well as the requisite birth, death, and marriage records. Leliana had found the birth records of Lhiannon's parents and brother, whereas Lhiannon's was missing. It was not terribly concerning; it was common practice for the birth records of mages to be gathered and stored within the Circle after their abilities had manifested. All in all, the information listed on the village was no different than the hundreds of other similar villages spread throughout Ferelden, Orlais, or any other nation in Thedas.

"There are too many things that just don't make sense," Leliana whispered, closing another book and setting it aside. "I _need_ to get into that locked room. Secrets are always hidden behind locks and guards, and for the Chantry to have guards posted at that door at all hours, there _must _be great secrets there."

A small knocked sounded on the door to Leliana's tiny chambers, pulling her from her thoughts. "Sister Laya? Are you there?"

Leliana quickly and quietly gathered up the parchments, folding and tucking them into a small pocket in her robes. "A moment, if you please."

"Take your time, Sister."

Leliana stacked the books into a neat pile on the bedside table before standing and adjusting her robes. As she took the few steps toward the door, she quickly smoothed her hair in an unconscious gesture. Reaching the door, Leliana took a deep calming breath and opened it to the young cleric on the other side.

"Sister Charlotte," Leliana said, greeting the young lay sister with a generous smile. "Do come in."

Sister Charlotte moved into the room in a gentle swirl of robes and sat at the foot of Leliana's bed. Closing the door behind her, Leliana turned and set next to the young woman. Sister Charlotte was a notorious chatter among the initiates and newly ordained clerics, eager to spread every little nugget of gossip she heard as soon as she could. Leliana knew the senior clerics had often chastised the young woman for her actions, but it did not deter Charlotte in the least. Leliana knew that she would have to step carefully around the young gossip, lest her actions be spread about the Cathedral.

"I wanted to see if you were settling in well, Sister Laya. Is there anything I can do for you or answer questions about?"

"I am doing well, Sister Charlotte, thank you. Though I am curious about one thing."

Charlotte laughed, the sound light in the small room around them. "I bet I can guess what it is. It's probably the same question all new clerics and sisters ask when they come to stay at the Cathedral for the first time."

Leliana smirked, playing along with the young lay sister. "Are the golden statues in the Grand Cathedral really made of gold? And why the walls around the compound? Shouldn't the faithful be allowed to see the grandeur of the cathedral itself and not the imposing walls around it?"

As she had hoped, young Charlotte giggled lightly and playfully slapped at Leliana's robed leg with a delicate hand. "No, silly. _Everyone _knows that the statues are only gold plated. And as for the walls, surely you know the cathedral was once a Tevinter fortress? They built the walls to keep the barbarian tribes out."

"Then what, Sister Charlotte, is the question that the new clerics and sisters ask?"

Charlotte leaned forward, glancing toward the door of the small room to make sure it was closed. She lowered her voice so as not to be heard by anyone passing by. "The locked room. Why is it locked? Why is it guarded?"

Leliana raised a brow in interest. "Why _would_ the room be locked and guarded?"

"I don't know for sure, but it's usually just the Divine or her closest advisors that enter the room. I think the original Chant of Light is there. Or even the Canticle of Maferath. Or even his remains!" Charlotte paused, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or maybe even Andraste's herself."

_Usually._ The word made Leliana pause. Did Charlotte mean that people other than the Divine and her closest advisors used the room? Who else would be allowed into the room and for what purpose? Leliana leaned even closer to the young lay sister, making sure her voice sounded both curious and full of awe. "I cannot believe the Divine would allow just anyone in if those things are in there."

"Oh, the Knight-Commander and Lord Seeker go there from time to time, as do the Divine and her inner circle of Grand Clerics. Oh! Even the Empress' private scholar on Chantry doctrine is allowed admittance from time to time. She holds him in such high regard that she made him part of her court! Maker and Andraste bless the Empress for being so pious!"

_Him? _Leliana felt her brow furrowing at the change of subject. "Why would the Divine not send a senior cleric? I don't mean this to sound bad but isn't it, well, _odd_ for a man to be in such a position?"

"There are many men who devote their lives to studying the Chant of Light and its interpretation. This man is no different. He is very pious and had been offered templar training with the Knight-Commander himself." Charlotte shrugged slightly, the rustle of robes the only sound in the room. "The Divine must have thought him knowledgeable enough for such a position."

"Then that is all that matters," Leliana said, her mind troubled. Not seeking to alarm the young cleric, she smiled sweetly. "You certainly have rather interesting knowledge of Chantry gossip. I do so love to indulge in it from time to time, even if the Revered Mothers frown upon it." Charlotte giggled and blushed slightly; Leliana decided to keep with the gentle flattery in an effort to keep the young woman talking. "Surely you must have more… interesting… stories. Oh, do tell!"

"Well," Charlotte said, scooting a little closer to Leliana on the bed. "I do know that there is a woman who comes to the Cathedral on occasion to offer prayers to the Blessed Andraste. The poor woman; she gave birth to a mage and is seeking the Maker's forgiveness."

Leliana nodded to the young sister, encouraging her to continue. "She believes magic is a curse?"

"Yes, of course she does," Charlotte said, her voice sounding scandalized. "Many see magic as a curse. I, myself, pity those poor souls afflicted by magic. They are prey for the demons and many cannot resist the call. Anyway, this poor woman not only has a mage for a son, but her husband may be forced to leave his home because of his beliefs." Charlotte paused, shaking her head slightly. "Do you know that in Ferelden, the King and Queen gave an entire section of the country to a mage? A mage! She rules over an entire populace against the teachings of the Maker! This poor woman's husband had fought against it, but she fears that he will be removed from his lands. Or even killed! Maker preserve us!"

_Isolde Guerrin_, Leliana thought to herself. _It makes sense that that would be the story circulated about._ Putting a look of confusion on her face, Leliana reached up and tapped her lips with her finger as if she were deep in thought. "But wasn't that land gifted to the Grey Wardens? I thought that was what I heard from the village criers as I was traveling through the countryside on my way here."

"It is still wrong, Sister Laya," Charlotte said, shaking her head emphatically. "It is a step toward magister rule once again."

Leliana quashed the butterflies that now fluttered in her stomach. Was Charlotte's belief common knowledge within the Cathedral? Did most of the other clerics and templars feel the same way? Did the Divine _herself_ feel that way? Leliana was not sure. In the short amount of time she had been within the Cathedral , Leliana had learned that Divine Beatrix III was of feeble mind; she rarely led services within the Cathedral and, when she did, had a senior cleric assisting her most of the time. Was the Divine still leading the Chantry herself, or were her closest advisors the ones leading the flock in her name?

With a troubled look on her face, Leliana shrugged slightly. "Yes, I see where the situation in Ferelden is problematic. But what is the Chantry doing about it? Surely they must be doing something."

"That seems to be the big question," Charlotte said, standing and smoothing the front of her robes with a gentle hand. "No one seems to know what the Divine or any of the senior clerics or templars think. It's as if they are completely ignoring what is happening right under everyone's noses."

_Oh, I highly doubt they are ignoring it. In fact, I'm fairly certain the Divine and her closest advisors are doing anything _but _ignoring Ferelden._ Leliana stood, walking to the door to see her guest out. "Well, Sister, I think the best thing we can do is pray for the Chantry and the Divine."

"Indeed. Good evening, Sister Laya."

Leliana closed the door to her small room behind Sister Charlotte, turning and leaning back against the door and closing her eyes in thought. Images of her new home in Ferelden swirled through her mind's eye as she took one deep breath, then another. Bringing a hand up to her chest, she felt the small bit of parchment hidden within a fold inside her breastband. It was a second coded letter addressed to Aura at Vigil's Keep. Leliana pulled the parchment from inside her robe, moving to the small bedside table and smoothing the paper out onto the tabletop. Her neat, precise writing covered almost half of the page, observations that she and Zevran had made in their recent days in Val Royeaux. She added a quick note regarding her conversation with Sister Charlotte, gently blowing her breath across the page in an effort to dry the ink faster. After she was satisfied, she folded the parchment and placed it into her breastband once more. Once she and Zevran had met again and traded information, she would add Zevran's observations and send the new letter off to Amaranthine.

Leliana frowned, exchanging her robes for a plain nightdress. As she settled on her knees beside the bed, she lowered her head into her folded hands and began to pray.

_Dear Maker, give me the strength to continue Your work. I know all that has transpired has been according to Your will and divine design, even that which seems to contradictory to it. Please visit understanding upon those who would seek to circumvent Your will and help them find their path once more._

_Please keep us all safe._

* * *

"I do have a question for you, Henri."

Zevran and Henri wound their way through the narrow alleys of Val Royeaux, the smells of piss and despair filling their nostrils as they moved toward the part of the city where Henri said 'a contact' was waiting for them. For being supposed agents of the Empire, Zevran thought they spent a great deal of time wandering through the worst districts of the Orlesian capital, surrounded by squalor. He hoped this was not some sort of fool's errand. He did not have time to be drifting about Val Royeaux chasing false leads while those that threatened the security of Ferelden were allowed to operate freely.

Henri nodded, keeping his gaze on the alleyway ahead of them. "You ask many questions for an assassin."

With a light snort and chuckle, Zevran continued. "I wish to know all I can so that I may be most efficient in my work. Earlier, you mentioned those that fail to dance with the Dowager become victims of the Game. What, or who, is the Dowager?"

"Ah, that," Henri said, a knowing grin crossing his features. They stopped for a cart passing in the street before them, waiting for the horse and driver to pass before continuing on through the next narrow alleyway between buildings. "There is a saying among the Orlesians: _you must dance with the Dowager if you wish to play the Game._ The Dowager is Lady Mantillion, who has been very influential within the Imperial Court for over a generation. It is said that her hand guides and thwarts many of those who wish to play the Game."

"So she is of a noble house?"

"Not just that, my Antivan friend. She was once very close to Emperor Florian and that has been the source of many wild stories and bits of gossip within the capital for many years. She has been called Emperor Florian's mistress and personal assassin. Rumors occasionally surface saying she was the one who placed Empress Celene on the throne. Her people are always willing to assert that she is the voice in the Empress' ear, advising, guiding, and even so much as ruling from her place at court." Henri paused, stopping in the alley and turning to face Zevran directly. He leveled a finger at Zevran to emphasize his point. "All you need to know, my Crow, is this: should you lose the Dowager's favor, your days as a Shadow will end in a most permanent fashion."

Henri turned and continued moving through the alley, guiding them toward a section of the city surrounded by a high stone wall. Zevran walked at Henri's side, listening to the sounds of the city around them. Several young street urchins had taken an interest in the two men, but when Henri pulled his cloak away from his waist to reveal his long scabbard and vicious looking dagger nestled inside it, the urchins quickly found something more interesting to do.

They rounded a corner of the stone wall and saw an iron gate before them. Several guards stood at the entrance, their gaudy yet nonetheless heavy armor glistening in the low torchlight. Feathery plumes in bright colors adorned the tops of their helmets, swaying in the gentle breeze. Zevran looked up and saw other guards positioned in towers above the gate, crossbows in hand and held at the ready as he and Henri approached. A guard with a more ornate plume on his helmet stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he called out a gruff command to the approaching men. Henri spoke to the man, apparently the commander on duty, and moments later the iron gate opened to admit them into the walled section of the city.

As the gate closed behind them, Zeran calmly looked about. The buildings in this part of Val Royeaux were of wood and stone, obviously one of the better neighborhoods in this part of the city. Every so often, they passed small walled compounds within the district; noble estates, Henri had explained. Many had rows of intricately carved evergreen bushes on their grounds, while others had groups of statues standing about. Most were carvings of nymphs or naked men and women in poses ranging from the artistic to erotic. Other estates had brightly colored murals on their walls. Private mercenaries and guards patrolled within the walls of most compounds, glaring at both Zevran and Henri as they passed. Henri led them toward a nearby estate, almost plain next to its ostentatious neighbors. They approached the gate and with a bored wave, the guard stationed inside motioned for the gate to be opened. Zevran looked about the grounds of the estate, seeing that there were only a few manicured trees and evergreens scattered over the grounds. A cobblestone walkway led to the front of the estate, where a grand, yet plain, oak door with a bright gold knocker awaited them. Next to the door was a small alcove and within the small niche stood a small but intricately carved and gold plated statue of the prophet Andraste. Clearly, it was worth more than most peasants made in an entire year or even two. While Henri knocked on the door, Zevran studied the statue more closely. The features were exquisitely carved, down to the detail of the prophet's hair and the small scar that adorned her cheek. The gold plating gleamed so brightly that Zevran saw his own distorted reflection in the metal.

As the door opened, Zevran returned his attention forward. The expensively dressed manservant who had opened it stepped aside, allowing Henri to pass by with Zevran just behind him. As the door clicked closed, another man entered the room and stood before them. He was plainly dressed in a doublet and hose, with shining black boots and his long hair was pulled back and secured with a fine black ribbon. Around the man's neck was a fine gold chain and a golden symbol of Andraste's flame rested against the man's chest. Nodding in greeting to Henri, the man then stepped forward to study Zevran. The Crow stood silent as the man appraised him, walking in a slow circle around him and studying him intently.

"This is the Crow?" the man asked Henri, coming to stand in front of Zevran with a disapproving look on his face. "He is an _elf, _Henri. Having to lower ourselves to recruiting Crows is bad enough; one that is an elf is nearly insulting." Zevran felt himself bristle inside at the remark, but kept his face passive.

"True, my lord," Henri said, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. "He is, however, highly skilled. I have tested him myself. His skills are adequate."

The man harrumphed loudly, not bothering to hide his distaste at Zevran. "You had best be sure of his skills, Henri. Failure will not be tolerated."

"I assure you, my friend, my skills are above reproach," Zevran said, not flinching under the Orlesian's scathing gaze.

"I am _not_ your friend, _elf_," the man said, spitting out the word in disdain. "You will prove your worth doing the Maker's will."

Zevran did not need to hear the unspoken end of the man's sentence: _or die_.

"I shall serve you well, my lord…" Zevran said, his voice a purr as he bowed his head reverently and let his sentence trail off, prompting for a name.

"If you _must_ address me, elf, you will address me as Lord Alune."

* * *

Leliana scowled, moving through the library with her books in hand. Again, the locked door was guarded by two burly templars, even at this time of night. The library was almost completely dark, since most of the clerics and lay people had long since retired to their small rooms for the evening. Taking her book to a far corner of the library, Leliana sat down. Through the bookcases, she could see where the templars stood guarding the door. She intended to watch them, to see if an opening presented itself. She knew she would have to move quickly if an opening appeared, given how far away from the door she was sitting. It was a tradeoff, she knew; sitting any closer to the templars would likely invite scrutiny.

She gasped and jumped in her chair when a hand firmly gripped her arm.

"Why are you here, Grey Warden?"

Leliana turned, seeing a stern male face staring into her eyes. He was a few years older than her, his red hair pulled back into a low tail and a neatly trimmed goatee on his face. His hazel eyes burned brightly as he glared at her, waiting for her answer. She felt her blood crawl and itch within her veins; this man was like her. He was a Grey Warden.

The man shook her arm once again and hissed into her ear. "Answer me, Warden. Why are you here? Who are you?"

"M—my name is Sister Laya, ser. I am a scholar."

"_You_ are a Grey Warden and have not answered my question. Why are you here? You are not one of my Wardens."

Leliana gave the man the story she had practiced with Zevran only a few days before. She had been recruited in Ferelden by the late Commander Duncan as she traveled the Chasind lands to bring the Maker's word among the tribes. She had been delayed in arriving at Ostagar. When she had heard of the disaster that befell the Wardens there, she made her way north to Orlais, ministering to the people as she traveled.

"So why did you come here? Why did you not present yourself to the Wardens here in Orlais when you arrived? Surely Duncan would have told you to report to the nearest Warden compound if you were separated."

Leliana let her eyes drop to the floor. "I—I was ashamed, ser. I failed the Wardens. I thought I might be executed for desertion."

The man loosened his grip on Leliana's arm, but still held her fast. He studied her for a moment before continuing. "Since you were recruited in Ferelden, you are attached to their order and should return to them in time. If there is justice to be faced, you will face it from them. Tell me, Sister, what do you know of the Fereldan Grey Wardens and their plans to travel to Orlais? They have been invited here to tell us the tale of the Blight and how they defeated it so that we may be better prepared for the next Blight."

"I'm sorry, ser. I made my way north through Ferelden on my way here. I was not aware that any Grey Wardens had survived until much later. But even then, I was afraid to return to them. I decided to come home to Orlais."

After a moment, the man released her arm and held a hand out to her. Leliana took it, allowing him to guide her to her feet. "I am Warden Commander Jean-René Alune. I have sensed you here before and thought you would present yourself to me. When you did not , I decided to find you for myself. When your fellow Wardens arrive from Ferelden, you will be turned over to them to face whatever punishment for desertion they deem appropriate. For now, you will come with me to the compound here in the city and remain there until you are released into the custody of the Fereldan Grey Wardens."

Leliana's brows furrowed. "I am to be your prisoner then?"

"Not a prisoner, but not at liberty to leave either."

* * *

_See, I didn't forget about Zevran and Leliana. ;) I haven't forgotten about Nathaniel and the others left at Vigil's Keep either. We just might hear from them soon as well._

_Not only am I working my way through Skyrim and Cocoon/Gran Pulse, but I've also taken the plunge into the MMORPG universe for the first time (I'm such a n00b). I picked up a copy of Star Wars: The Old Republic at the urging/poking of Tyanilth. Not that she had to twist my arm too hard. :p I'm having a lot of fun with my Sith Assassin.  
_

_I've posted one new sketch since the last update for you Morrigan fans. It's here: ht tp:/ josielange. deviantart. com/#/d4p7al3_

_In another pitch of shameless self promotion, I wrote a one-shot for the Cheeky Monkeys "Love Potion Number 9" challenge. It's a DA2 fic titled "The Call of the Vial." You can find it out on my bio page. Fair warnings for language and NSFW activities!  
_

_Oodles of thanks to reviewers Dante Alighieri, Seika, JackOfBladesX, Suilven, Aura of Darkness Night, Wyl, Oleander's One, Ventisquear, Arsinoe (and I've loved our various back and forth brain pickings!), Shakespira, Gene Dark, Naomis8329, Reyavie, and Tyanilth. You all are an inspiration to me on those days when the muse fights me, kicking and screaming._

_Thanks as always to all the readers! I appreciate you taking a few minutes to read my tale!  
_


	48. Plans

_**Thanks to the awesomeness of beta-on-call Suilven for making sense of the messes I send to her. You're the Matthew Stafford to my Calvin Johnson... but without either of us having their money. Bummer.**_

_**A bit of a filler chapter again folks, but it does move several storylines forward a step or two. Action coming soon!**_

* * *

An empty carafe of tea sat on the corner of the desk and Nathaniel considered shouting out for one of the servants to take it to the kitchens to be refilled. After a moment of scowling at the empty vessel, Nathaniel decided he needed a break from the stacks of paper on Lhiannon's desk and that a brief trip to the kitchen was the perfect diversion. _I understand now why she hates paperwork... there's just so much of it!_

The halls of Vigil's Keep seemed empty with the Commander and a number of the Wardens and soldiers working in the south. Nathaniel found that he missed the cacophony of noises that had often filled the halls. He missed the clinking of glass when Anders prepared potions for the Wardens and for the Vigil at large. He missed Loghain's stomping footsteps through the halls; they were always a harbinger of his mood. With a wry snort, he realized he even missed Oghren's snoring and belching at all hours of the day and night.

After nodding in thanks to the cook on duty, Nathaniel began his trek back to the office with a carafe of tea in one hand and a small plate of bread and cheese in the other. He had thrown himself into the task Lhiannon has given to him with relish, doing his best to run the Vigil and the arling in such a way that she would be proud of him.

He paused in both his steps and his thoughts, snickering lightly to himself and shaking his head. A wry grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. At one time, he had told Lhiannon that if she were on fire in the street, he would not piss on her to put the flames out. Now, as he resumed his journey toward Lhiannon's office, he realized he would do almost anything in his power for her. He was as loyal to her and the Grey Wardens as he had been to his father back in his youth... before his father had become the monster Delilah had described to him. When they had first met, Nathaniel had wanted to kill Lhiannon for the supposed murder of his father; now it was important to him to earn her favor completely. She had shown a great deal of faith and trust in him when she left him in charge of the Vigil and the arling while she traveled south; he would do whatever he could to show her that her trust was well placed.

Arriving back at Lhiannon's office, Nathaniel set the tray and carafe onto the desk and resumed his place in her chair. As much as he was glad for the opportunity to lead, part of him wished Lhiannon and the others would return soon. The thought was a bit selfish, Nathaniel knew, but it was one he found he could not help thinking.

"Warden Nathaniel? A moment?"

Nathaniel looked up from the paperwork on his desk to see Varel in the doorway of the office, several additional pieces of parchment in his hand. Nathaniel briefly scowled at the new papers, which brought a small chuckle from the seneschal. Varel had witnessed a similar expression on the Commander's face a number of times and immediately recognized it for what it was. "A letter arrived addressed to the Commander with today's post. We also received a message from Denerim via messaging bird."

The message from the bird immediately piqued Nathaniel's interest. "From the Commander?"

"Most likely," Varel said, nodding once. "I did not read it, but wished to give it to you first."

Nathaniel motioned Varel forward toward one of the chairs across the desk, taking the proffered documents as the seneschal sat and poured himself a cup of tea from the carafe on the desk. Turning over the parchments in his hand, Nathaniel felt his brows rise as he saw a red wax seal on the larger document addressed to Lhiannon, the script on the parchment extravagant and flowing. Recognizing the seal, Nathaniel looked up to see Varel's wry grin.

"Is this seal what I think it is?"

"You would be correct, Warden. It's the seal of the Orlesian Grey Wardens."

Nathaniel scoffed, pulling his boot knife to pry off the wax seal. Normally he would have waited for the Commander to return, but since she was still several weeks away from Vigil's Keep at best, Nathaniel knew it would be prudent if he simply handled the matter in her absence. As he applied knife to wax, the gentle scent of lavender reached his nose. "Damned Orlesians. Even their Wardens are full of perfumes, frippery, and fancy seals. One would think they were nobility."

"Orlesians were never ones to be accused of being dowdy. And a number of their Wardens are indeed minor members of the nobility."

With a snort, Nathaniel opened the parchment, his eyes scanning the document. Varel sat across the desk, sipping his tea and watching as Nathaniel's eyes moved across the page. As he read the words before him, his expression hardened.

Varel felt his own brows lower in response. "Warden? What is it?"

Nathaniel leaned over the desk, offering the parchment to Varel. "It's another letter from the Second Warden of Weisshaupt, Rolande Grosvenor. He is reminding Lhiannon of his first 'invitation' to Orlais to regale them with the tale of the Blight."

Varel's eyes began to peruse the page, picking up on the terse tone the Second Warden had set.

_While I understand your concerns regarding matters in Ferelden, I must reiterate the need for you and your Wardens to come to Orlais and give us your testimony regarding the end of the Blight. This is not a request for your information, Warden Commander._

_You will report to Val Firmin, where the Warden Commander of Orlais will convey you to our compound in Val Royeaux. Any matters remaining in Ferelden can be handled by your subordinate Wardens in your absence. Should they require aid, I will send more Wardens to Ferelden to assist them._

_I expect an answer to this invitation within the month, and your presence in Val Royeaux within two._

Varel looked up to see Nathaniel watching him closely. "Now I understand the expression on your face."

"They still use the word 'invitation' in this newest missive," Nathaniel said, taking the parchment back from Varel with a look of distaste. "However, it's clear that by 'invite' they really mean 'summon.'"

"The Commander won't be happy to see this," Varel said, shaking his head slightly. "She is far more concerned with setting matters in Ferelden to rights, and rightfully so. Orlais is understandably lower on her list of priorities."

Nathaniel grunted, a wry grin pulling on a corner of his mouth. "And you know Loghain will stomp around and grouse about the Orlesians and their plans for domination. The man is nothing if not suspicious of any move they make."

"Old habits die hard, Warden, especially with one such as Second Loghain. Do you think the Commander will actually acquiesce to their 'invitation' and travel to Orlais?"

Varel received his answer in one raised brow from Nathaniel. "After Weisshaupt left Ferelden all but on its own during the Blight? She may agree to meet with them, but it will likely be on her own terms. Besides, if Loghain has any sort of say, he won't let her or anyone else within shouting distance of the Orlesian border."

With a nod of agreement, Varel continued. "In the meantime, we should pen some sort of response. Would you like me to do that?"

"No, let's both work on it together," Nathaniel said, setting the letter aside and reaching for the small tube that had been attached to the messaging bird. "We can pen that tomorrow after we have had a night to sleep on it and be more objective. I'm afraid that if I penned a response now, it would be less than professional. I don't wish to portray the Fereldan Wardens in a negative light."

Varel nodded. "Tomorrow it is then. Now, what does the second message say?"

Nathaniel gently pulled the small piece of rolled up parchment from the tube, smoothing it out onto the desktop. He held each edge with his calloused fingers, keeping the parchment from rolling up on itself again. A small smile bloomed on his lips.

"It's indeed from the Commander. She is sending Raelyn back to Vigil's Keep with a number of soldiers and Warden recruits. They left Denerim yesterday and should be here tomorrow. She and the Wardens also left for the Brecilian Forest yesterday as well and will send an update via bird when they arrive in South Reach."

"I'll make ready to prepare the Joining compound," Varel said, rubbing his chin with his hand. "The Commander authorized putting the candidates through the Joining upon their arrival and taking them immediately to the Knotwood Hills for training."

"Do you think it's wise to do the Joining right away? Shouldn't they be more thoroughly evaluated first?"

Varel sat back in his chair, mulling over Nathaniel's question for a moment. "Let's decide that once we see who Warden Raelyn has brought back. If we need to evaluate them, we shall. I hardly think the Commander will mind if we exercise a little more caution than may otherwise be required. We can always wait for her return before performing the ritual on anyone who is questionable."

"Agreed," Nathaniel said with a nod. "In the meantime, the Glavonaks can begin their preparatory work to seal the opening to the Deep Roads in the Knotwood Hills." He paused for a moment, a grin pulling on his features. "Mistress Woolsey wasn't very happy with the estimate, was she?"

"No, but she doesn't have much of a choice, does she? She already sent the request for additional funding to Weisshaupt. Hopefully, they will be amenable to the request, especially with her approval. They need not know that the approval was given grudgingly."

"And if they choose to deny the request?"

"Well," Varel said, pursing his lips briefly in a show of annoyance, "if they refuse, we may have to either ask the Crown for assistance from the kingdom, levy more taxes on the arling, or some combination of both."

Nathaniel frowned deeply. "I can't imagine that will go over well."

"No, likely not. However, the Wardens can cross that bridge if—and when—we come to it."

Surprisingly, Nathaniel found himself looking forward to training the recruits that the Commander was sending to Vigil's Keep. While the Knotwood Hills did not hold the most pleasant memories for him, he looked forward to getting back out into the wilderness once again. His bow ached to see some action other than shooting targets and practice dummies in the training yard. While there was indeed some danger in their task, excitement quickly overrode any nervousness he may have felt.

It was time to hunt again.

* * *

The bedchamber was small, but not lacking for any comforts compared to the far simpler ones she had in Ferelden. Leliana looked to the small bed with a modicum of antipathy. Clearly, the Grey Wardens in Orlais were accustomed to a degree of luxury within their compound. It was not completely surprising to Leliana, given that a number of the Wardens stationed in Val Royeaux were from noble houses. Even if they were from minor noble houses or were the youngest or most troublesome men from more predominant houses, they were all accustomed to a certain level of luxury that they were either not willing to give up or their families were not prepared to see 'their' sons live without.

Jean-René had not confined her to this small bedchamber, but Leliana found herself there more often than not. When she was out in the compound proper, she was constantly followed by at least two other Wardens. While they had not been outright rude to her, they looked upon her as an object of pity and ridicule for having been in Ferelden for so long. They did not consider her a 'barbarian' like they saw Fereldans in general, but she was clearly tainted in their eyes.

She snickered at the thought. _What an ironic word: tainted._

After she had arrived at the compound, she had quickly scanned the structure for possible points of escape. Her bedchamber was on the second floor and while escape was not impossible, it was a long way down the straight walls to the ground. The exterior stone walls did not provide enough handholds or footholds to scale down. She had thought about tearing her bed sheet into strips, but even if she got to the ground, there was a high wall surrounding the compound to contend with. The wall was topped with what looked like sharp iron spikes meant to deter invaders from scaling it. There also appeared to be shards of glass embedded within the mortar along the top of the wall, further discouraging her from considering that as an escape option.

She would have to think of another way… soon. Somehow, she had to get word to Zevran that her position as a lay sister had been compromised. More importantly, she had to get her small note—hidden in her breastband—to him as well. Though Jean-René had not curtailed her other freedoms within the compound, she did not trust him to not read any correspondence she wished to send. There was no way he could see what she was hiding. For a moment, she considered burning it in the small brazier in the room; it could still come to that.

Leliana moved to the window, leaning against the sill and watching as life in Val Royeaux went on around her. There was something about Jean-René that bothered her, but she could not put a finger on it. They had eaten breakfast privately the morning after he had discovered her in the Cathedral. He had wanted to learn more about her and why she had seemingly abandoned her duties as a Grey Warden in Ferelden. While she was once more reiterating her story, she had noticed that he had seemed distracted and disinterested while she was telling him about her 'journey' from Ferelden to Orlais. He had been far more interested in the Grey Wardens there, constantly asking her what she knew about them.

"I'm sorry, Commander, but I never really had a chance to meet any of them before Ostagar," Leliana had explained as she took a dainty bite of porridge.

"What do you know of the present Wardens, Laya? Did you not meet any of them?"

Leliana had bowed her head shyly, averting her eyes from the Commander's piercing gaze. "No. I'm sorry; all I know about them is what I learned from traveling across the land ministering to the people."

Jean-René had angrily slammed his fork down on the table, swearing under his breath in colorful Orlesian. Leliana had kept her eyes down, listening carefully to the Commander's angry swearing. Clearly, he had hoped Leliana could tell him more about the Fereldan Grey Wardens, but for whatever reason, she could not be sure. The hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end, a reaction she was terribly unaccustomed to, but likely gave the Commander the impression that she feared him a bit. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Jean-René had held a hand out to Leliana, a warm smile suddenly crossing his features.

"Forgive me, Warden Laya, I forget my manners. I have much on my mind."

Leliana had given him her hand, allowing him to gently guide her to her feet. She had nodded toward him, giving him a soft smile. "I am sorry to hear that you are burdened so. Whenever I find myself under a heavy burden, I turn toward the words of the Maker and his Bride."

"The Chant does bring a degree of comfort, that is true."

After breakfast, Leliana had not seen Jean-René for the remainder of that day or the following one. In her guided exploration of the compound, she had not seen the Commander about and, when she had asked her escorts about him, all they would say was that he was on Warden business within the capital.

A knock on the door brought Leliana from her musings at the window. She was surprised when the door opened to see the Warden Commander himself on the other side. _What could he want from me now?_

"Ah, here you are, Warden Laya. I was told you often spend time in your room alone. No more. It is time you joined your brothers and sisters in training."

Leliana nodded in acquiescence, moving toward the door when an idea suddenly came to her. "Commander, before I begin training with the others, will you allow me to attend services at the Cathedral? I find myself unaccustomed to their sudden absence; they have been a part of me for so long and I feel... incomplete."

The Warden Commander appeared to consider her request for a moment before sighing. "I will allow you to attend today's services with an escort, but tomorrow you will begin training with your brothers and sisters. I will not have you return to Ferelden untrained and ignorant of our ways."

* * *

The air was sweet.

Lhiannon took a deep breath of the crisp air as their party moved south along the West Road toward South Reach and Keeper Lanaya's Dalish camp. It would still be a couple of days before they reached the city, their progress slowed by the conglomeration of wagons, horses, and those traveling on foot. She did not mind the walking or the exercise it brought. As the miles fell behind them—the road winding through first hills and then plains, fields and forests—she felt more alive than she had in some time… even if the end of that road lay in an area saturated by filth and blight.

A tributary of the Drakon River crossed the road in front of them as the sun dipped lower into the sky, the first hints of orange fire spreading across the horizon. Lhiannon called for a halt in the day's travel and all those in the party fell into their assigned camp tasks. Wood was gathered for fires; water collected for cooking, drinking, and washing. Several archers—Loghain included—set off into the nearby forest to hunt for game to supplement their stores while still others set up tents and prepared fires for cooking.

There were enough soldiers traveling with the Grey Wardens to ensure that an adequate force was on watch every night. Still, at least one Warden was awake all night, ready to warn the others of approaching darkspawn. They had been lucky thus far; only the occasional band of darkspawn had been sensed and properly dispatched, and small amounts of their blood collected. Still, the Wardens knew that the lack of darkspawn—for the moment—was no reason to become complacent. The closer they came to South Reach and the Dalish camp, the more numerous the bands of darkspawn were likely to become.

"What do you think of one or two of the Wardens scouting ahead when we draw closer to South Reach? You know, to look for any evidence of darkspawn," Lhiannon asked Loghain as they sat on a log near the fire outside their small tent. She poked at the burning logs with a long stick, watching as sparks rose on the air currents to wink out of existence above them. The fire gently warmed their light armor and Lhiannon found the smell of oil and leather a simple comfort.

"It could be a wise precaution," Loghain said, breaking several small sticks and setting them into the fire. "Send a Warden or two ahead with a few soldiers on horses; lightly armored men on the fastest mounts sent to observe and report, to engage the darkspawn only if necessary."

"You're a far better horseman than I," Lhiannon said, turning to look Loghain in the eye. "I think you should pick several men to accompany you and ride ahead a bit, reporting back at regular intervals with darkspawn movements… if there are any."

"What we have seen so far from the darkspawn will likely pale in comparison to what we will find in the Brecilian Forest."

Lhiannon nodded slowly, knowing that their good fortune would not last much longer. Her stomach crawled with both dread and anticipation. "I know it's been mentioned to the soldiers before, but we can't stress it enough: don't handle the dead darkspawn. Minimize contact with their tissues. If they do come into contact with them, remove and clean their armor and clothing immediately. I'd rather see them come back to camp as naked as the day they were born rather than risk the blight sickness." She poked at the fire with her stick for a moment before continuing. "You should consider taking Anders with you. He can help you with his spells... and his healing abilities."

Loghain watched the fire for a moment before turning his head to look at Lhiannon's profile. She, too, studied the fire. He could tell by the set of her jaw and the slight furrowing of her brow that she was thinking of what would happen if any of the scouts did indeed show signs of being tainted. "And the fate of those that become blighted?" Loghain asked, knowing that the question was a moot point. He knew what had to be done.

Her brow lowered and lips pursed as she exhaled slowly through her nose. She continued to study the fire intently. "I know that, traditionally, the Wardens do not accept charity cases. I say to the Void with tradition for the moment. If the man is too far gone, give him mercy. If you feel he—or she—has a fair chance of surviving, put them through the Joining immediately." She paused for a moment, sighing again. "I do not wish to put this burden on you, but you are known for having an eye for spotting the best soldiers."

Turning his body to face her, Loghain brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His gloved fingers brushed the thin line of a scar snaking away from her eye and into her hairline. Her people were important to her, and the thought of losing them to the blight sickness still troubled her. It was a feeling he understood. The men and women serving under him were always of the utmost importance and were not to be squandered. "I will do what I must. You know this of me."

A slow smile spread across her face as she turned to meet his gaze. "I know."

Footsteps approaching from their left made them turn their heads. Sigrun bounded toward them, the plates of her heavy armor ringing slightly as she approached. "I'm getting ready to go on watch. You two should probably get some sleep." Lhiannon watched as Sigrun barely held back a small snigger, quickly bringing a hand to her face to hide it. "Sleep... yeah..."

Lhiannon rolled her eyes and snorted as Sigrun turned back toward the center of camp, singing a ribald dwarven drinking song as she walked.

"Do I even want to know what that dwarf is thinking?" Loghain asked with a harrumph. Lhiannon tilted her head toward the departing Sigrun, giving Loghain a slight shrug of her shoulders. "She thinks we're cute."

Loghain stood and harrumphed again, holding a hand out to Lhiannon. "'_Cute'_ is not a word that has _ever_ been attributed to me."

With a grin, Lhiannon took the offered hand, allowing Loghain to guide her to her feet. "Well, My Lord, there is a first time for everything." As she stood, she looked longingly at the tent, hearing the beguiling call of the furs of her bedroll. Her eyes grew heavier with every passing moment. "I'm going to give some last minute orders to Sigrun and the others standing watch." She paused, a corner of her mouth turning upward in a saucy grin. "Warm the bedroll for me?"

Loghain brought Lhiannon's hand to his lips, pressing them against the supple leather covering her skin. "My old bones shall do their best, My Lady, however it is a task best accomplished with two." He lowered his lips to the shell of Lhiannon's ear, a hairsbreadth of space between them. He grinned at the involuntary shudder his breath evoked from her. "Hurry; I grow impatient with waiting for you."

"I'll be back before you can miss me," Lhiannon said, gasping as Loghain brushed the tip of his tongue against the shell of her ear before pulling away to walk briskly toward their tent. She grinned as she watched his retreating form.

_I'd better hurry; wouldn't want to keep him waiting _too _long._ As she walked toward the center of camp, a mischievous smirk spread across her face. _But perhaps a little wait will teach him patience… or he may teach _me_ a thing or two about discipline. Either way, it's a win-win._

* * *

The rays of the setting sun set the still lake on fire, the reflection nearly blinding to the eyes. A figure crouched where water met sand, absentmindedly running a fingertip through the sand at the edge. The water flowed into the trails left by the finger, ebbing and flowing so the sand filled the lines until they were little more than barely discernible marks in the surface.

An image appeared on the surface, wavering slightly in the gentle movements of the water. The figure's eyes were drawn to the scene, studying it intently as images appeared and disappeared on the surface. Two of the figures were easily recognizable: a woman with dark hair, wearing heavy armor with the double griffon of the Grey Wardens on the breastplate. A tall man with wind braids, broad shouldered and narrow hipped, also wearing heavy armor but with a single griffon on the dark metal. Other figures swam into focus before fading away: two men in mage robes; one with fair hair, the other dark haired. A red haired woman. A tattooed elf. A young, dark haired man with a large bow.

The figure pursed its lips, feeling furrows form on its forehead and the hairs on its neck stand on end. The images began to cycle faster and faster, alternating between individuals and places. The spire of Kinloch Hold appeared as well as what looked like small villages or guard outposts. Swords clashed and magical energies erupted from outstretched hands as battles raged on the surface of the water. The images did not make sense; then again, most images that appeared in such a manner hardly made sense at the time and were only one thread along the shifting sands of time. Suddenly, the images were consumed by the yellow and orange fire of the sunset, winking out of existence as the sun began to fall below the distant horizon.

Should they be warned, or should fate be allowed to unfold unhindered? The figure reached into the water, washing the last gains of sand away from its hands before standing to scowl at the setting sun. With an exasperated sigh, the figure turned and moved toward the small campsite not far away, troubled by visions of what might be and what should be done about them.

* * *

_**My technological life is finally back to normal and the damages to our house are being repaired. I had a worry-wart moment with the baby this week, but all is just fine with the little critter.**_

_**I need to thank Wyl for making me pause and really consider Leliana's thoughts now that her status of a Grey Warden has been discovered. She would definitely think about different avenues of escape... I likely would have overlooked that (DOH!). Thanks, Wyl!**_

**_Cookies go out to reviewers Oleander's One, Suilven, naomis8329, Aura of Darkness Night, Arsinoe, Wyl, Shakespira, Seika, Reyavie, Gene Dark, Ventisquear, and Tyanilth. You always put huge smiles on my face with your encouragement, pointers, and thoughts. Thanks, all!_**

_**Happy Birthday, "Retribution!" I posted chapter one back on February 27, 2011. I can't believe I've been writing this for a year now! Your support and encouragement have helped make this possible, so a big glomping THANK YOU to all of you! I write my stories as much for you as I do for me. I appreciate all of you. :)**_


	49. Chasing Shadows

_**Loads of thanks go to Suilven for turning her beta eye on this chapter not once, but twice! Your advice was right on the money!  
**_

* * *

Leliana had her cloak tightly gathered around her and the hood pulled over her head to ward off the chill of the morning. A cold rain fell, chilling her to the bone through the light leather armor the Orlesian Wardens had provided her with. No matter how long she had lived in cool climates, it was something she would never get used to.

Her escort had come to gather her from the dining hall in the Warden compound a quarter hour before. They had left the compound together, crossing the opulent section of Val Royeaux in which both the compound and the cathedral were housed. He was the most junior of the Orlesian Wardens, the youngest son from a minor noble family by the name of de Carric. As part of his initiation—and hazing—into the Wardens, Dorian was often subjected to completing the most minor or menial of tasks, many having to deal with the aftermath of a night of heavy drinking amongst the other Wardens. Dorian was a polite, if quiet, escort on the way across the wide streets of the city.

As they continued their nearly silent trek through the streets, Leliana's mind whirled with thoughts of how she could get word to Zevran—and eventually Ferelden—of her circumstances and what little she had gathered from within the Warden compound. Every idea she came up with encountered a stumbling block or some other fatal flaw that would risk exposure for her or Zevran. She did not want to remain in Val Royeaux with the Wardens until Jean-René sent her back to Ferelden, but it was looking more and more likely that that was exactly what would happen. She took several deep breaths, willing her frantic mind to calm; panic would not help her. _I'm better trained than this!_

Leliana looked up from the damp cobblestones of the street to see that she and Dorian were closing in on their destination. The White Spire gleamed brightly despite the gloom around them, as if lit from within by the spirit of the templars housed inside. The sounds of voices raised in song began to rise above the falling rain, drawing Leliana's attention to the Grand Cathedral before them. It, too, seemed to resonate with an ethereal glow, as if the power of Andraste had come from the Maker's side to touch the building and those inside with a sacred light.

"It is beautiful, no?" Dorian asked as they stopped across the street from the Cathedral grounds to wait for a lavish carriage drawn by a large team of well-groomed horses to pass before them. "The magnificence of the White Spire and Grand Cathedral never cease to leave me in awe."

"It certainly is," Leliana said in agreement, stepping into the street as Dorian led the way. "I find myself increasingly at peace as we draw closer."

"After services are completed, Sister, I must take you back to the compound so that you can begin training with Warden Ariane. We cannot delay," Dorian said as they passed through the outer gates of the cathedral. The wide steps of the main entrance loomed ahead of them, however Leliana led him toward a small side entrance that the clerics and templars often used. He lowered his voice as they moved toward the door. "I understand you already know some basics of how to defend yourself, but Warden Ariane will sharpen your hand-to-hand skills and teach you what you must know to destroy our enemies."

As you say," Leliana said, suppressing a smile. _Poor boy; he has no idea of what I know. Wouldn't he be surprised if I suddenly decided to subdue him? Were it not for the attention it would attract…_

The templar at the side entrance to the cathedral greeted 'Sister Laya' with a look of confusion on his face, no doubt wondering why a sister of the Chantry would be wearing the insignia of the Grey Wardens and accompanied by a second one. He asked no questions, however, and stepped aside to allow them entrance. The sounds of female voices in song filled the Cathedral, nearly drowning out the footsteps of those entering to attend the morning's services. Leliana nodded in greeting to a number of lay sisters and clerics as they approached the seating area, taking a spot well away from the finely dressed noblemen and women as they waited for services to officially begin. Leliana saw a few of the more successful merchants and several heavily armored chevaliers scattered amongst the devoted. Those of the lower classes were rarely seen in the magnificence of the Grand Cathedral itself, mostly relegated to smaller chantries or even outdoor services in the poorer sections of the city.

With a flourish, the director moved the choir into a new section of the Chant of Light. Leliana found herself caught up in the music, humming quietly along with the singing as if hypnotized. Hearing the Chant in such a way had always brought her a sense of peace even when her life was in complete turmoil. She had left the most tumultuous part of her life behind her when she had left Orlais, but had found that she enjoyed at least a small amount of chaos and intrigue in her life.

On her left, Dorian listened raptly to the singing of the Chant of Light, adding his surprisingly pleasant voice to the song. From the taint between them, Leliana felt a sense of peace from her fellow Grey Warden. As she contemplated Dorian's mood, she caught movement from the corner of her eye as a figure in lightly rustling robes took a seat on the bench beside her.

"The chorus is beautiful, is it not?"

Leliana brought a hand up to her mouth, pressing her fingers against the flesh to keep a grin from blooming on her face at the sound of the familiar voice beside her. It was a voice she had not heard since just before Lothering's destruction during the Blight. A warm sense of relief washed over Leliana; she had heard that Revered Mother Dorothea had survived the onslaught of the darkspawn, but without any sort of real confirmation, she had always worried for her friend.

"It _is_ beautiful," Leliana said in agreement, her eyes flicking to the right to examine the woman's face. She was almost exactly as she remembered; fine lines of age ringed her eyes and mouth, and wisps of gray mingled within the Revered Mother's blonde hair, but the last couple of years had not been unkind to her.

Dorothea leaned forward slightly, seeing the familiar griffon on both Leliana and Dorian's armor. She turned her head back toward the choir, listening to the song for a moment before speaking once more. "You are a Grey Warden?"

Leliana glanced over to where Dorian sat on her other side, surreptitiously taking in his expression. It appeared he was listening to the Chant, but Leliana could take no chances in case he was indeed listening to the low conversation next to him. She knew that she would have to be very careful in her next words to Dorothea, hoping that she would be able to piece together the facts that Leliana would give her and see that not was all as it appeared.

"I am indeed a Grey Warden. However, I failed to meet with the Wardens at the battle of Ostagar. I felt incredibly guilty and came home to Orlais and the Grand Cathedral to seek forgiveness for my failure and peace for my soul." Leliana paused, turning her head to directly look at the Revered Mother. "The Grey Wardens came for me at the Cathedral and… _took me_ to their compound."

Dorothea lowered her eyebrows slightly as she appeared to study Leliana's expression. In response, Leliana raised her brows and gave a quick, barely perceptible nod before returning her attention to the choir. Next to her, Dorian continued his low singing with the choir. Whether or not he had heard the conversation, Leliana could not be sure. She had not told Dorothea anything outright about her situation—nothing that anyone within the compound had not been told—but she hoped Dorothea had understood the quiet emphasis on that one small phrase.

"Have you found the forgiveness you seek?"

"No," Leliana said, unsure if Dorothea understood her silent plea yet. "I have not. Unfortunately, my obligations prevent me from coming to the Cathedral, though I would very much like to come on a regular basis."

Dorothea hummed slightly, nodding as Leliana spoke. "Perhaps I can come visit you at the compound. It is not unheard of for brothers and sisters to minister to the Wardens on occasion. I would be happy to help you find peace."

* * *

The sounds of boots clicking on the stone floor reverberated through the hallways. Jean-René moved with a purpose toward his office, a bottle of whiskey in his right hand while his left was clenched into a tight fist, his fingernails digging into the calloused flesh. He only encountered a handful of his Wardens as he passed through the halls. He did spot a few curious looks as he walked, but paid them no heed. He had been their commander long enough for them to realize he was in a foul mood and to give him a wide berth in such circumstances.

He entered his office, slamming the door shut behind him and bolting it with an angry grunt. Turning toward the desk, he stomped toward it, flopping into the richly upholstered chair behind it. The bottle of whiskey thumped on his desk, the dark liquid within sloshing about in the bottle. Resting his pounding head in his hand, he reached out for the large shot glass sitting on his desk. The glass held a small amount of whiskey residue from the evening before, the slight smell wafting up toward his nose. Jean-René contemplated getting a clean glass.

"Fuck it," he whispered, exchanging the glass in his hand for the bottle, pouring the whiskey to nearly the top of the glass and swallowing the liquid in a single gulp. The comforting burn of the liquid in his chest warmed him considerably even if it contributed to the pounding in his head. He would pay dearly for his indulgence tomorrow. His over-indulgence in whiskey of late bothered him, but it was amazing how fast the feeling faded as he swallowed another glass.

He had been a Grey Warden for nearly two decades, half of that as commander. He was the man that had sent Grey Wardens to the border of Ferelden during the height of the Blight and the Fereldan civil war. The Empress had insisted on sending chevaliers as both an escort and for support when she had learned of his plans. Jean-René had had reservations about the chevaliers accompanying the Wardens, mostly because he knew what exposure to the darkspawn and their taint meant. However, the Empress had insisted—through his brother Clotaire—that the chevaliers would be needed. It had been of little surprise to Jean-René when the chevaliers had been stopped at the border crossing with Ferelden; he had been greatly surprised when the Grey Wardens were stopped as well.

"Ancient history," he mumbled into his glass, throwing back another mouthful of whiskey. His thoughts turned to more recent matters; matters that were causing him a great deal of consternation.

Laya was being dishonest with him. There was no way he could prove it with absolute certainty, but he would bet his few remaining years on it. He had watched her practice in the training yard with his junior Wardens earlier in the day after she and Dorian had returned from Chantry services at the Grand Cathedral. Jean-René had supervised the training of numerous Wardens in the years since his Joining; he _knew_ when Wardens were pulling their punches or holding back. Just the way Laya had held her practice daggers drew his attention. She was trying to look more amateurish than she obviously was. _But, why? Why is she hiding her skills?_

There was also the fact that the taint within her felt slightly... off. She was a Grey Warden, there was no doubt about that. At first, he had thought Laya a mage, but that did not make sense; he had mages as Wardens and they felt no different to him. What else could it be? Going back over her story, she had said that she was put through the Joining before Ostagar, so she was a relatively new Warden. That should not make a difference either. So, what was it? Could she have been Joined using the blood of another archdemon? That brought forward more questions than answers; questions that slipped through his whiskey addled mind like water through his fingers.

The whiskey glass was empty again. _Something must be done about that, then._ He filled the glass once more, quickly downing the alcohol. The heat in his chest flowed down to his belly, where the whiskey caused his stomach to churn slightly. Paying for his consumption might come sooner rather than later, but Jean-René found that he was past caring at the moment.

As he stared at the now half empty bottle of whiskey, Jean-René's thoughts turned to the other matter that was causing him a degree of anxiety. His eyes flicked to the window in his office; judging by the amount of daylight, the sun would be setting within the next two hours. With a sigh, Jean-René stuck the cork back into the whiskey bottle, taking it by the neck and placing it into the deep bottom drawer of his desk, joining the two empty bottles that were already there.

Dinner was scheduled for sundown in his private dining room, and, while that normally would not cause such stress, it was the invited guests that were cause for concern. '_Guests'_ was perhaps too kind a word. Not only was his brother Clotaire going to be in attendance, but the Second Warden of Weisshaupt himself would be dining with them. Rolande had opted to stay at his family's estate while in Val Royeaux, saying that he could not pass up the opportunity to spend precious time with his family, believing this might be his last trip to Orlais before his Calling. It was just as well; Jean-René had not been looking forward to his superior coming into the compound and taking over. Or his brother, for that matter.

Jean-René sighed at the thought of his brother. Theirs was a complicated relationship. As much as he loved Clotaire, he worried about his ambitions and his compulsion to put their family among the highest of the Orlesian elite. House Alune had enjoyed their noble status for generations; they were high enough in status to enjoy the benefits their name afforded them, yet not so powerful as to become political pawns or enemies of the higher houses. Their part in the Grand Game was relatively uncomplicated.

Clotaire sought to change that, given his position within the Orlesian court. He was also widely regarded amongst the Chantry, especially among the templars. There was no doubt Clotaire was as cunning with his sword as he was with his wit and devotion to the Maker. As the elder of the Alune sons, Clotaire had had many options available to him when he came of age. He could have gone to the University of Orlais to become a scholar, or enlisted into the army to train as a chevalier. He could have chosen life as a templar, devoting his life and sword to the service of the Chantry. He had already caught the eye of the Knight-Commander with his sword and devotion, who had promised that Clotaire would quickly rise within the templar ranks. Instead, he had chosen to take their father's place at court, hoping that his youth and talent would bring more power and glory to House Alune.

Jean-René's options had been less prestigious as the younger brother. He likely would have been married to another Orlesian noble, or even sent to another land to cement an alliance between noble houses. He might have entered the army and served as a common soldier or taken an apprenticeship. Instead, he was presented to the Grey Wardens as a 'token of appreciation' from House Alune. Jean-René always wondered if Clotaire had been behind that, seeking to put their family name amongst one of the most highly regarded institutions in Orlais.

He snorted as he opened the drawer and withdrew the bottle of whiskey once more, its siren song too powerful to resist. He pulled the cork from the bottle and took a long draw directly from it. For a brief moment, he considered throwing both the bottle and the glass into the fireplace. _At least being a Grey Warden was better than being married off to some fat tart or being all but emasculated as a Chantry brother._

A knock at the door broke Jean-René's thoughts. He stood, grimacing at the feeling of vertigo that threatened to overwhelm him. Taking a few shallow breaths, he steadied himself against his desk for a moment before tentatively stepping toward the door. He leaned up against the wall, forehead pressed to the cool surface as he reached up for the bolt. Grasping it in one hand, he used the other to push back from the wall so that he looked at least halfway presentable when he opened the door.

The Warden's seneschal stood at the other side, his face impassive as he spoke. "Warden Commander, Revered Mother Dorothea is here. She is asking to see Warden Laya."

_Could this day get any worse?_ "Thank you. I want to meet with her before she sees Warden Laya. In the meantime, bring Senior Mage Alphonse to me. I wish to speak with him first." _And hopefully he can sober me up quickly enough to be of use._

* * *

Stepping into a small alley and brushing the dust off his cloak, Zevran squinted into the setting sun. He held his arm straight out, using his turned palm to estimate how long it would be until the sun set. _One and a half hands; they won't be speaking for long then. The sun will set in just over an hour and they _do_ have an appointment to keep._

It had become clear during the meeting between himself, Henri, and Lord Alune that the Orlesian noble had little use for not only a Crow, but an elf as well. Zevran had kept his face impassive during the meeting at Lord Alune's estate; such behavior from self-important humans was nothing new to him. Henri had misinterpreted Zevran's impassive silence during the meeting as brooding anger, and had pulled him aside later to explain Clotaire's behavior.

"You must understand, Zevran, that many Orlesians of noble birth see elves as servants at best. More often than not, they see elves as vermin," Henri had explained, no doubt seeking to soothe any lingering animosity that Zevran may have held toward their Orlesian benefactor. "I am sure Lord Alune was not speaking about you personally."

Zevran had snorted at that. "No, I'm sure that when he said that he did not want 'that elf' skulking about, it was meant in the kindest way."

With a flick of his wrist, Henri had waved off Zevran's comment. "You are my man and if I feel you are best for a particular job, then I shall send you." No matter how Henri had tried to sugar coat the nobleman's words and actions, Lord Alune was, and had been, a source of both intrigue and irritation for Zevran.

It had been a day or so later that Henri had received a summons to meet Lord Alune at a small tavern near the Grey Warden compound, _The Sword and Flame_. Zevran had not been surprised to learn that the summons was for Henri and not 'that elf.' Henri had scoffed at the summons and obvious cold shoulder treatment of Zevran by Lord Alune. When Zevran had offered to accompany Henri as a backup man, Henri had quickly nixed the idea. "No, you will stay here. Keeping you out of Lord Alune's sight is just business, Zevran. Since he gives me and our Shadows a great deal of financial support, I do not wish to antagonize him."

Zevran, of course, had made the decision at that time that he would do what he could to find out just what Lord Alune had in mind for Henri's small cell of Shadows. Henri would most likely tell Zevran of the Lord's plans, but there was always the possibility that Clotaire could forbid Henri from sharing the details of their meeting and assignment, simply because he did not want an elf to sully them. While Zevran had faced such bigotry before, Lord Alune's brand of intolerance in particular rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps it was because the Fereldan Wardens suspected he had had a hand in the affairs in Ferelden… the affairs that had sought to bring harm toward the Warden Commander. Zevran's sense of loyalty to the woman that had spared his life had flared strongly in that moment. _I promised to be your man until the end, my lovely Warden, and that is exactly what I intend to be._

When the time had come for Henri to leave the safe house for the meeting with Clotaire, Zevran had watched him leave from behind the thick curtains of his small bedroom. After counting to twenty, Zevran had grabbed his cloak and moved through the hallways of the house toward the door, preparing to call upon the shadows around him to stealth his movements. He had followed Henri through the city district, using small groups of people wandering in the same direction as cover for his movements. It had been tricky to move into the wealthier district of the city in which the Warden compound stood, as handsomely attired—yet still deadly—guards stood at the gates dividing the more opulent district from that next to it. However, Zevran had found his opportunity in a luxurious carriage waiting to pass through the gates. Apparently, the noblewoman within had known one of the guards standing at the gate—a slender arm clad in a long white glove had been reaching out of the carriage window to stroke the cheek of the guard. Calling the shadows around him once more, Zevran had quietly moved to the carriage, slipping underneath and grabbing hold of the carriage supports as the horses at the front of the carriage had jerked it into motion. It had moved slowly down the avenue, no doubt the woman within wanting everyone to have a good look at her retinue as she had passed by.

After a moment, Zevran had craned his neck to look behind him to make sure no other carriages had been following. Satisfied that there was no one behind them, he had dropped into the dust from carriage's wake, pausing for a brief moment for the carriage to move from over the top of him. He had then moved to the alley in which he now stood, where he had brushed the dust from his cloak and had checked the position of the sun.

Satisfied with the approximate time, Zevran pulled a small map from a hidden pocket in his leathers and checked his location. He was a short walk from the tavern in which Henri and Lord Alune were meeting. According to his map, the tavern sat next to the wall bordering this district of the city, a small alley running behind the buildings on that particular street. With a nod and an approving grunt, Zevran tucked the map away and set out for his destination.

* * *

Looking through the front window of _The Sword and Flame_, Zevran could see that it was mostly filled with handsomely dressed young noblemen and their friends. Serving wenches in tight fitting, low cut dresses moved through the crowd carrying trays of tankards or large pitchers in their hands, ale running down the sides as they were jostled and fondled by the men they passed. Despite the rich perfumes the noblemen wore, the clashing odors could not cover the smell of decades old ale, sweat, and vomit that permeated the tavern itself. It was relatively quiet now—only occasional bouts of raucous laughter rose from the young men within—but Zevran knew that after several hours of ale and wenching, that would definitely change.

Moving through the crowd of men and wenches inside the tavern would be risky, even in shadow form. All it would take was one bump from a drunken nobleman, a spilled ale from a clumsy wench, and his position would be discovered. With a disgusted scoff, Zevran rounded the corner of the tavern, seeking the alley that his map said would be running behind it. It was, of course, just where the map had said it would be. There was also a door leading into the rear of the tavern, no doubt there for quick escapes for either unfaithful noblemen or scheming wenches.

Zevran tested the handle, finding that it was locked. He crouched down, looking closely at the lock for a moment before chuckling lightly to himself. The lock was a fairly standard one, similar to many locks that he had picked in the past. His deft fingers and quality picks ensured his quiet entry into the tavern seconds later. He found himself at the intersection of a dimly lit, T-shaped hallway, the longer leg stretching out before him while shorter ones reached out to the left and right. Clearly, these were the private rooms where the wenches took their paramours for the night. Or where, perhaps, a nobleman and a Shadow met clandestinely. It only took moments for Zevran to locate the door beyond which Henri's voice emanated.

"And she has secured the proper approvals, yes?"

Zevran's sharp ears caught a low scoff as Lord Alune answered. "Don't be a fool. The Lady only receives her approvals from the highest of sources."

"So then, we are to meet your brother next?"

"Yes, but not alone," Lord Alune said, his voice slightly impatient. "Together, we will ensure his aid. The Maker smiles upon our work, Henri. Have no doubt. My brother will be our ally."

Zevran heard what sounded like the scraping of a chair upon the floor. The boards on the other side of the door squeaked as weight was pressed to them. He cursed silently; he had suspected the meeting between Henri and Lord Alune would be short, but this was even shorter than he had thought. Apparently, their discussion was already finished and now they were on the move. Zevran quickly looked about, looking for a place to hide. The nearest door he tried was locked. _Brasca!_

The hallway ended about ten long paces away, with two doors on opposite sides of the hall. A lantern on the wall flickered as the oil within the vessel ran low. It would have to do. Moving silently on his toes, Zevran quickly moved toward the lantern, cupping his hand behind the glass chimney and blew, his breath traveling down the inside and extinguishing the flame. A small amount of smoke filled the vessel. He swore again, hoping the darkness would not only help him blend into the shadows, but cover the small thread of smoke trailing upward. There was little he could do about the smell of the smoke other than hope it did not draw too much attention. He pressed himself against the wall, calling upon the shadows to envelop him once more.

Wherever they were going, Zevran would follow.

* * *

The chapel within the Warden compound was lit by two small candelabras standing near the feet of a golden statue of Andraste, their gentle light chasing the shadows back a few feet from the statue's base. Leliana stood up from the small bench she sat on, moving toward the altar as her Warden escort sat at the back of the room. She carefully removed one of the long candles from the candelabra, taking it to a small alcove off to the side of the altar, where she touched the flame to a small amount of incense. The sharp, yet slightly floral smell, filled her nostrils, reminding her of the Lothering chantry. A small stab of nostalgia and homesickness rippled through Leliana. Dorothea had always kept a small amount of this incense within her chamber; it was the smell Leliana associated with her new life within the Chantry and Ferelden.

The door at the back of the chapel opened, allowing light from the hallway outside to spill into the room. Low whispers were exchanged and the squeak of door hinges filled the small space. Once the door closed, Leliana's sharp ears picked up the familiar sounds of rustling fabric, the gait of the person entering familiar to her. A small smile came to her face as she turned to face Revered Mother Dorothea. Her friend smiled serenely in return, opening her arms to Leliana in warm welcome.

"It is good to see you again," Dorothea said, guiding Leliana toward the bench at the foot of Andraste's statue. "It has been far too long."

"I agree," Leliana said, feeling her brows furrow slightly. "How did you convince the Warden Commander to let you see me? And for my escort to leave?"

Dorothea shrugged slightly. "I told him that I needed to hear your confession—for it was sin that turned humanity away from the Maker and toward the Old Gods—and that that confession is private between you, me, and the Maker. I also explained that faith is an important facet of your life and to take that away from you would make you less effective in your duties. Though reasonably accommodating, he seemed rather distracted." Dorothea hesitated for a moment, her nose wrinkling slightly. "He smelled of whiskey."

"Something has been bothering him of late, from what I understand," Leliana said by way of explanation. She shrugged slightly. "I am not sure of what; I'm sure he carries heavy burdens as Warden Commander."

Smoothing her robes, the Revered Mother sat on the bench with a small sigh. Leliana joined her, turning her body slightly so that they were facing each other. They kept their voices low in case anyone happened to stumble upon them.

"Are you being kept here against your will?" Dorothea said, reaching out and gently touching Leliana's knee. A small, wistful smile crossed her features. "I'm afraid I don't have the key to this cell for you."

"That's… complicated," Leliana said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "I am free to move about the compound, but I am not allowed to leave at the moment."

"When you said you were a Grey Warden… is that true?"

"Yes," Leliana said, nodding slightly. "I became a Grey Warden after the death of the archdemon." She paused, looking up at the statue of Andraste. A small smile crossed her face. "I believe this is what the Maker wants of me. He sent me with the Warden Commander when we met in Lothering and I believe He wanted me to join her afterwards. It isn't a life of quiet contemplation, but I believe it is what He wants of me."

"I see," Dorothea said, gently squeezing Leliana's knee. "Listen to that small voice inside. The Maker will not lead you astray." Dorothea withdrew her hand, sitting upright and folding her hands on her lap. "Now, you cannot leave the compound, but I certainly can. And it is well beyond time for me to return the favor from when you helped me retrieve those papers from Marjolaine."

Leliana waved off Dorothea's comment. "You told me where Marjolaine and Raleigh were; that was return enough."

"No. I am in a position to help _you_ now, and help you I shall. What can I do to help you?"

Leliana thought for a moment. There was still the message she kept within her breastband for Zevran. She could have Dorothea take a message to him at their next meeting; that way, Zevran would have both the information and know that she was all but incapacitated. Before she could answer, the door to the chapel opened and Jean-René himself entered. "Is all well here?"

"Yes," Leliana said, standing and bowing her head slightly. "I am grateful that you allowed the Revered Mother to come and hear my confession."

"Confession is good for the soul, Warden Laya," Jean-René said, looking pointedly at Leliana. "Trust and truth go hand-in-hand. I demand that my Wardens be truthful in their dealings not only with outsiders, but with each other… and me. Without trust, the bonds of fellowship cannot be made."

Leliana nodded once more. "Indeed."

"I must take my leave of you now, ladies. My brother is coming to the compound for dinner, so I must prepare." Jean-René turned toward the door, sparing one last glance over his shoulder to Leliana. "Remember not only the words of the Revered Mother, but mine as well, Warden."

After the door closed once more, Leliana quickly turned toward Dorothea. "Can you come back tomorrow? I do have information for you to pass on to someone, but there is one more thing I would like to do before I give you that information."

Dorothea nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow, then, so long as your Commander allows it." The Revered Mother paused, giving Leliana a stern gaze. "Whatever it is you have in mind, please be careful. "

"I will," Leliana said, bringing her hand over her heart in a gesture of promise. "Oh! There is one more thing!"

Dorothea glanced at the door, knowing that with the Warden Commander's words, their meeting was quickly coming to an end. "What is that?"

"The locked and guarded room in the Grand Cathedral… what's in there?"

"I am not completely sure," Dorothea said with a small shrug. "I believe it is mostly artifacts and items for the templars."

"Templar items?"

"Yes. I believe the Daggers of the Faithful are there. Excess lyrium. I also think items like the dissonant verses and other private documents could be there."

Leliana thought for a brief moment. _Private documents? Like names of operatives?_ "Have you seen bards in the chantry?"

Dorothea gave Leliana a sly smile. "Just you," she said. Her smile then abruptly faded. "However, this is Orlais and you know well that where power reigns, bards are always lurking in the shadows."

* * *

_Well, this chapter turned into the Zevran and Leliana show again... it wasn't in the plans, but you know how writing goes sometimes! I ended up cutting a part of this chapter and moving it to the next one, since it will fit better there. We'll also see what Lhiannon and Loghain have been up to on their way to South Reach and the Dalish camp. _

_My theory on the archdemon blood and the Joinings goes a little like this (and I'll use an accounting term here): first in, first out. Since it's been several hundred years since the last Blight, my thinking is that the Wardens put through the Joining before and during the Fifth Blight had the blood of the archdemon Andoral in their rituals. I think the blood of the older archdemons would have been long gone by this point (with any other samples likely hidden away at Weisshaupt). Leliana had taken Joining after Urthemiel's defeat and since that blood had been more readily available, that's what she had. I think Urthemiel's blood may "feel" slightly different to Wardens Joined with Andoral's blood. Jean-René would likely have figured it out, but since he's got a great deal of whiskey in his system, his thinking is muddled. :p  
_

_I have to travel for work at the end of April (I'll wave at you, Ole, as I'm passing through Minneapolis!). I'm not sure if chapter 50 will be up before I leave or not, but I'll see what I can do. Maybe I can post a shorter one. I'm also working on the next chapter of Revelations; with a little luck, I'll have that up before I travel._

_Loads of thanks go to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Oleander's One, Suilven, Seika, Wyl, Ventisquear, JackOfBladesX, Arsinoe, Shakespira, Naomis8329, TafferS, and Reyavie. Your comments and suggestions are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Also, thanks to Suilven for suggesting the chapter title (I was having a total mental block there).  
_

_Thanks to all of you following along!  
_


	50. The Wardens' Approach

**_Many thanks to the big beta stick of Suilven. As always, your help and suggestions are right on the money and much appreciated! Thanks for all that you do!  
_**

* * *

"A message just arrived. They are coming."

Anwen looked up from where she was adjusting the fletchings on her arrows, seeing the slight form of Keeper Lanaya standing just inside the flap of the small tent. Anwen silently cursed herself for not hearing the Keeper approach; that sort of distraction and complacency could get her killed. She could sense the strange darkspawn creatures in the wilderness over a distance, yet was nearly deaf to her own kind. It was infuriating. Without a word, Anwen returned to her fletchings and angry brooding.

"You know what that means, Anwen."

_How could I _not_ know what that means,_ Anwen thought bitterly to herself. _You've drilled this into my head incessantly over the last couple of months._

Since the Grey Warden _shemlen_ and _durgen'len_ had left their camp, the Keeper had felt it a necessary duty to teach Anwen all she knew of the Grey Wardens and their campaign against the darkspawn and Blights. Her twin Hadyn's pyre had been barely cold before Lanaya had started her educational campaign with Anwen, preparing her for her eventual departure from the _elvhen_. Lanaya was of the belief that the Grey Wardens were honorable and noble crusaders; Anwen had thought them little more than outsiders and therefore beneath her contempt. They were also the ones who had killed her brother. How could she give them any sort of loyalty?

"Keeper, I see no reason to fight you about this. My mind has not changed."

Lanaya remained standing just inside the tent, her gaze becoming an uncomfortable weight on Anwen's shoulders. For what seemed like the hundredth—or thousandth—time, Anwen kept herself busy in the hopes that the Keeper would simply give up the fight this time and acquiesce.

Lanaya, however, was not to be dissuaded. "Anwen, you would dishonor not only yourself, but your Keeper and your clan by not fulfilling your duty?"

"It was a duty forced upon me; I did not choose it willingly."

"You would have died had the Grey Wardens not intervened. You are one of them now, and have an obligation to fight for their cause."

"I can _fight_ their cause _here_ amongst the _elvhen_, like I have for the last couple of months. I do not need to be a part of their '_shemlen_ only' group."

Keeper Lanaya's frown deepened. "The Grey Wardens are not exclusively human, you know this. A _durgen'len_ was here with them; you saw him yourself. This was only a temporary arrangement; you knew they would be coming back to survey and close the archdemon's breach. They will need you with them to do that."

Anwen sensed—again—that that argument would be as fruitless this time as it had been every other time she had tried to use it. She switched tactics. "The Grey Wardens were the ones that killed my brother. You would have me cooperate with Hadyn's killers?"

Lanaya sighed, standing with her hands clasped behind her back. To Anwen's eyes, it appeared the Keeper was as tired of these arguments as she was, but was not going to back down. Again. "Anwen, we have argued about this countless times and this will be the last. It was the darkspawn that killed your brother, not the Grey Wardens. Both of you were infected with the Blight sickness and would have succumbed had the Grey Wardens not intervened. I am sorry that Hadyn died, however that does not absolve you of your duty."

Anwen set her arrows aside, moving to pick up her ironbark bow. It was a weapon lovingly carved by her uncle, Varathorn**. **The wood held intricately carved loops and swirls matching the _vallaslin_ tattooed onto her face, the marks that honored the goddess Andruil**. **A pit began to open in her stomach. If she did not go of her own free will, the Keeper could command her to go—or worse—banish her from the clan. Realization began to dawn that she would likely _have_ to go. Anwen had hoped that the Keeper would see her resolve to her clan and change her mind, but it was clear that Lanaya valued the honor of the clan above nearly all else. Anwen would _have_ to leave, for the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the one.

As Anwen contemplated her position, Lanaya pointed to the markings on Anwen's face, dedicating her to Andruil. "Remember her words."

The words flooded Anwen's mind, the recitation of the words as normal as drawing breath. "Yes, Keeper. _Vir Assan._"

Lanaya nodded. "Fly straight and do not waver."

Anwen continued. "_Vir Bor'assan._"

"Bend, but do not break."

"_Vir Adahlen._"

"Perhaps the most important one of all," Lanaya said. "Together, we are stronger than the one. You will make the Grey Wardens stronger with your gifts. They, in turn, will make you stronger with their knowledge." Lanaya paused for a moment before speaking again. When she did, her voice had a slight waver. "And when you return to us—be it in life or death—your knowledge will be added to our own, and your place amongst our history assured."

Anwen's gaze fell to the floor of her tent, her thoughts still conflicted. If she had to leave the clan, Anwen resolved to make sure the _shemlen, durgen'len, _and everyone else would know of Dalish honor. She would show them all that the Dalish were worthy of the respect they deserved. They were not savages or animals and if took the remainder of her life to show them that, so be it.

Anwen watched as a satisfied look crossed the Keeper's delicate features. Anwen cursed herself again; this was what the Keeper had wanted all along. Lanaya had wanted Anwen to come to this decision on her own. She set her work aside, standing and crossing her arms over her chest. Her lips pressed together as a scowl crossed her face and fought against the urge to allow a small grin to cross her features. "I don't have to like them."

* * *

With the first light of the morning, the sounds of camp breaking could be heard. At first, only a few people moved about the camp but, as the sun slowly crept over the horizon, the sounds of barked orders and the rustling of tent fabric and rattling metal could be heard. Lhiannon watched as her Wardens—Oghren, Sigrun, and Anders—began to break down their tents. Sergeant Joanna was also nearby, overseeing the soldiers from Amaranthine and making sure they were ready before the other men. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Lhiannon's attention, and she watched as Loghain loaded their tent and equipment into a cart before turning to speak to the sergeant. Lhiannon grinned to herself; she was lucky to have Joanna as her faithful sergeant and was sure she would see to it that the men and women from Amaranthine were the best in Ferelden. Of course, with Loghain amongst them as their arl and commander, the men and women would have no choice but to be the best; he would accept nothing less.

The sound of Anders' laugh drifted through the camp toward Lhiannon's ears. She turned her attention back to the Wardens, watching Anders as he playfully bantered with Sigrun. She watched them for a moment with a troubled expression on her face. Anders had been moody ever since they had left Denerim; every time Lhiannon had attempted to have a conversation with him, his replies had been short and his attitude curt. While she had seen him in the occasional black mood in the past, he had always come out of it in short order. This mood had had staying power and Lhiannon wanted to know why. Straightening her back, she approached the campsite occupied by the Wardens.

"Hey, Commander," Sigrun said, her smile of greeting bright as always, "I think it's gonna be a nice day today."

"And how would you know?" Oghren said, scoffing as he looked warily toward the sky. Just because all the cloudheads _said_ no one had ever fallen into the sky or that the sun had never fallen on any of them, did not mean it had never happened. Or would not happen. "You some cloudhead expert now?"

"Ah, stuff it, nug-humper."

Lhiannon felt her grin for Sigrun and Oghren's banter fade as Anders continued with his work, barely acknowledging her presence. He was listening closely to the conversation next to him, despite the pains he took to look otherwise. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was looking more and more like a potential confrontation with her friend.

"Anders," she began, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

"Kinda busy here, Commander," Anders said, his voice curt. He pulled one of the spikes holding a tent rope out of the ground, freeing the spike and tossing it aside, where it clanged against another already lying on the ground.

"No worries, Anders," Sigrun immediately said, her voice a cheerful chirp. She caught Lhiannon's eye and gave her a quick and knowing wink. "Oghren and I can finish here. It's no big deal."

"Huh?" Oghren said, pulling his attention from where he had been twirling tent ropes over his forearm. "Why can't Sparklefingers pack his own crap?"

Sigrun gave Oghren a firm jab in the ribs with her elbow, her teeth gritted together as she spoke. "I _said_ it was no big deal, Oghren. Now quit your sodding complaining and help me with Anders' tent."

Oghren carefully dropped the ropes to the ground, moving toward where Sigrun had gently shoved Anders out of the way and was continuing to dismantle the tent. "Sodding women and their chores…"

Anders turned to where Lhiannon stood behind him, favoring her with a stern glare. For a moment, Lhiannon was taken aback by his expression. He was angry with her; she had known him long enough to see that. The question of _why_ he was angry with her swirled through her mind, but she could come up with no immediate answers. With a gesture of her hand, she motioned for him to move away from the other Wardens, where they could talk privately. Once they were out of earshot, Anders stopped and turned to face Lhiannon.

"What can I do for you, _Commander_?"

Lhiannon felt herself bristle and her brows lower in confusion. "You can drop the _Commander_ shit, Andy. I'm asking you as your friend. You've been stewing over something ever since we left Denerim, barely giving me the time of day. Now, what's going on?"

Anders crossed his arms over his chest, his glare becoming even more pointed. Several moments of tense silence followed where Lhiannon found it increasingly difficult to keep from fidgeting in the uncomfortable quiet. "You want to know what's going on, _Lhiannon_? Okay, I'll tell you. You _really_ pissed me off sending Raelyn back to Vigil's Keep with that… that _templar._" He spat the word as if it was a curse or it had left a bitter taste in his mouth. "You would take a _templar_ into the Grey Wardens? _Really?_"

_So that's what his smalls have been in a knot about_. "Andy, Harrith is an ex-templar. He was kicked out of the order when the Chantry found out about his association with the Mages Collective. And, at this point, I'll test anyone who wants to volunteer to join us. Even you can't deny his smiting skills would be handy against darkspawn emissaries."

Anders did not seem convinced. "You can take a man from the templars, but you can't take the templar from the man. How can you even _trust_ him? How can you even send him with her, knowing what those bastards did to her?"

"You think I don't sympathize with Raelyn? What those templars did to her was unconscionable. But not _all_ templars are like that. Ser Otto wasn't like that. Knight-Commander Greagoir is a hard templar, but he's _fair_. Harrith risked everything to help the Collective… and you of all mages should sympathize with _their_ cause!"

"Oh, so you're Loyalist? A Chantry apologist now?"

Lhiannon felt her anger grow exponentially as an irate scowl crossed her face and her teeth ground together. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loghain glance briefly into her direction, no doubt concerned with the abrupt change he felt in her demeanor.

"_Don't you dare_ call me a Chantry apologist! I _helped_ the Mages' Collective because I want us to have the same freedoms as everybody else in Thedas one day. I want people to see that most mages don't have to be regarded with fear and suspicion... that we just want to live our lives like everyone else.

"Are you _really_ angry at me for sending Raelyn back to Vigil's Keep? It's not like she's _alone_ with him! She's got Maverlies and other Warden candidates with her." She paused briefly, pointing a finger at her friend. "And, you _know_ that Raelyn can defend herself, not only with her spells, but have you forgotten that she's being trained in the arcane warrior arts as well?" Anders opened his mouth to speak but, before he could, Lhiannon held up a hand and stood tall before him. "And, you forget your place, _Warden_. I don't like pulling rank on you like this, but she's following _my_ orders. I want her to recuperate _at home_ before I take her on another mission with me."

Anders threw up his hands, turning as if to walk away. Lhiannon watched as he paused and scoffed loudly before speaking once more, keeping his back to her. "I still think you're crazy to take a templar into our ranks. And I would have felt better being sent back to the Vigil with her."

"That wasn't possible and you know it. Look, I know this is really about how you feel for her. I can certainly understand it, but there are times we have to put that aside for duty."

Anders turned back toward Lhiannon with his arms crossed over his chest, a wry grin pulling on the corner of his mouth. "I mean no offense, Lhi, but that's a little hypocritical coming from you since Loghain is here."

"And maybe you're right, to a certain extent," Lhiannon said in agreement. It was not the first time she had been accused of such a thing when Loghain was on a mission with her, and it likely would not be the last. But, what was she to do? His experience was far greater than hers—than any of the Wardens—and it was invaluable in situations such as the one they were facing.

With a sigh, she continued. "I'm far from perfect as Commander. However, Loghain is my Second and his presence was needed in Denerim. He's also the most experienced fighter among us, and we'll need that where we're going. You are also the most experienced healer, so we need _you_ too."

"Well, you're right about that," Anders said, chuckling lightly. "I wouldn't want you trying to heal anything more than a hangnail."

Lhiannon snorted as she shook her head. She felt relief as Anders' dark mood began to dissipate, even if it was the result of a joke at her expense. "You definitely know how to inspire your brothers and sisters." As she and Anders snickered together, Lhiannon caught sight of Loghain turning in their direction. He beckoned her with the wave of a hand; she returned his gesture with a quick nod.

"Duty calls. Look, Andy, Raelyn will be just fine. Harrith would be an utter fool to try and cause problems. Not only would Raelyn likely blast him with her magic, but he'd have to deal with Maverlies as well. I don't think she'd take too kindly to rabble rousing on her watch."

"Likely not," Anders said in agreement. "Still, I worry about her with all that she went through." After a moment, he motioned back to where Oghren and Sigrun were nearly finished securing their tents for loading into the wagon. "I should probably help them load up our gear. Go do your Commander-y thing."

"Thanks for your permission," Lhiannon said, reaching out to give Anders' arm a gentle squeeze before moving toward where Loghain stood near one of the carts. Sergeant Joanna was with him, as were two other officers from the compliment of men the King had sent with them. Lhiannon had to suppress a grin when she saw that Loghain had one of his maps spread out upon the cart's deck, pointing toward a landmark with his gloved hand. Cartography was a hobby he indulged in at every opportunity, and he clearly enjoyed showing off his painstakingly detailed creations.

"Ah, Commander," he said as Lhiannon reached the small group, "I was just explaining to our colleagues that as long as the weather stays fair, we should arrive at South Reach this afternoon. We may even be able to make it to the Dalish camp with a bit of luck." As he spoke, he pointed out the aforementioned locations on his map, his finger tapping lightly on the parchment.

"That's good news. I want to get this business over with as soon as possible so we can all go home and eat _real_ meals and sleep in _real_ beds." Several nods and grunts of agreement could be heard all around. "Push your groups to get their packing and the morning meal completed quickly. I want to be on the road to South Reach before we can turn the hourglass."

With the requisite acknowledgements, the officers moved toward their small groups of men, calling out orders as they approached. Loghain began to carefully fold his map, preparing to slide it into a leather satchel he regularly carried when they were traveling. As he worked, Lhiannon found her eye drawn to their men, watching as they quickly and efficiently broke down their camp. Two birds also caught her eye as they flew across the camp, stirring up smaller birds in their wake.

"Duck hawks," Loghain said, looking up and following the larger birds' flight as they circled back and landed at the tops of nearby trees. "They are a type of falcon. They're likely watching for a quick meal in our wake."

"We saw them occasionally at Kinloch Hold," Lhiannon said, her eyes taking on a faraway look as the memories surfaced. "They would sometimes nest on the decorative ledges on the sides of the Tower. There were a few small windows we could peek out of to see them. We could see them hunting for prey over the open water of the lake." As she finished speaking, she looked toward the sky, where wispy clouds reflected the rays of the rising sun. "Let's hope luck is with us today; the sooner we can reach that damn breach and seal it, the sooner we can return home."

Loghain gave her a curt nod. "So long as the weather holds, so will our luck."

* * *

Much to Loghain's chagrin, the weather did not hold that day. The sunny morning gradually gave way to thick, dark clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon by late morning. The rumble of distant thunder was a constant companion through the afternoon, and rain soon followed. The road leading toward South Reach quickly became muddy and slick, bogging down the wagons and slowing the group's movements.

Lhiannon watched as Loghain's mood darkened along with the weather. She peered at his expression from beneath the hood of her cloak, suppressing a grin from time to time as he grimaced with every rumble of thunder, every shower that came upon them. She could not blame him for his sour mood. She, too, had wanted to travel as far as the Dalish camp if they could. If the rain had remained light, they still could have met that goal. However, it had become clear not long after the rain had started that the chances of reaching the Dalish camp that day were becoming more and more remote with each passing hour. It was a disappointing development.

"How far are we from South Reach?" Lhiannon asked Loghain during a break in the steady showers. As best as she could figure, it was midafternoon now; the thick clouds completely obscured the sun, hiding its position in the sky. They would have to make a decision soon as to whether they should push forward to South Reach or simply make camp along the road. With the sun blocked by the cloud cover, they would quickly lose what little daylight they had; Lhiannon did not relish the thought of hastily setting up camp in the waning light.

Loghain harrumphed at her question, reaching into his pack to produce a map of the area. He opened it, folding it so that the area west of the most recent signpost they had passed was visible. His gloved finger pointed to a spot not far from the mark indicating South Reach.

"Had the Maker not indulged in His sense of humor and sent rain upon us, we likely would have been well past South Reach by now. As it stands, I cannot fathom us trying to continue past the city today." Loghain muttered a curse under his breath as several fat raindrops landed on the parchment. He blew on the page, hoping to minimize the damage the water could do to it.

"But we can reach the city today?" Lhiannon asked, holding the flap of Loghain's pack open while he slipped the map inside. "If it's beyond our reach, we might as well stop and make camp while we wait for the road to dry somewhat."

"Unless the Maker sends a torrent down upon us—which I now believe He could certainly do, just to mock us—yes. We should reach the city within a couple of hours at our current pace." Lhiannon saw Loghain wince slightly as he adjusted the position of the pack on his shoulder. The cool, wet weather appeared to be playing havoc with him, though he would never admit such a thing while in view of their Wardens and men.

"Then let's push for South Reach," Lhiannon said with a nod of agreement. "The Dalish will have to wait another day."

Loghain grunted in agreement, shrugging and rolling his shoulders in an effort to ease the tension in them. "Indeed. Not even with you and Anders casting haste spells would we have arrived at the camp at the rate this rain has fallen. The mud would still have bogged down the wagons. And, speaking of mages, were you able to settle your differences with Anders?"

She nodded. "Yes. He wasn't happy that I sent Harrith to Vigil's Keep with Raelyn's group of recruits."

"I had wondered about that as well," Loghain said.

"Well, you know that I know him from the Mages' Collective. He approached me and asked to consider him for the Grey Wardens. Even I know that a templar's abilities could be handy against darkspawn emissaries."

Loghain nodded his understanding. "Ah. Well, we unfortunately cannot afford to be particularly choosy with whom we recruit at the moment."

Lhiannon considered his words as they continued walking along the road, the chatter of the men and Wardens around them a low drone in the air. Her thoughts drifted over the months since what was now being called "The Battle of Denerim." Her brows furrowed slightly. "You know, Loghain, it makes me wonder why we have not seen more Fereldans seeking to join the Grey Wardens on their own, outside of what recruiting we've done. It sure seemed as though we would see some after the archdemon fell."

"I do not think it's quite that simple, Lhiannon," Loghain said, ticking off points on his fingers. "Do not forget, the south, many areas of the Bannorn, and the east were devastated by the Blight; people needed time to mourn their dead and rebuild their lives. Also, winter is not a time for travel. Only the most essential traveling is done in the winter months. Most people—even amongst the nobility—do not have horse drawn sleds." He turned his head to look at her, a brow raised. "I can tell you from experience that winters in the Fereldan wilderness are _hard._ I found it nearly unbearable as a young man; I cannot imagine going through the same experiences again as an old man."

Lhiannon considered Loghain's words, trusting in his greater knowledge of such things. As a young apprentice within the Circle, travel outside the Tower was rare; she had traveled with her mentor, Enchanter Sari, to Orzammar once. It had been her only time off the island within Lake Calenhad until Duncan had entered her life and had saved her from a potential trip to Aeonar for her involvement in Jowan's ill-fated plans. Until her conscription into the Grey Wardens and, later, her relationship with Loghain, she had truly no idea what it was like to travel through the wilderness.

Another more disturbing thought, crossed Lhiannon's mind as the rain began to fall once again. Could someone be telling Fereldans to _not_ seek out the Grey Wardens? If that was the case, the only ones she could see attempting to put forth such an agenda were the Chantry or even her and Loghain's political enemies. She scoffed to herself. _Lhi, you're becoming far too paranoid for your own good. It's probably like Loghain said. He has decades of experience behind him; I've only been a Harrowed mage and Grey Warden for a couple of years._ At any rate, she decided, it was something she could further explore after the breach was dealt with.

* * *

A sense of relief filled Lhiannon as the town of South Reach emerged from the murky gloom. The rain had not been as heavy as it had been earlier in the day but, with the waning afternoon, a damp chill had begun to fall upon the party of Wardens and soldiers. Conversation had waned as the temperature fell, with only occasional murmurs punctuating the air. Loghain had given the order for Sergeant Joanna to set up camp in a large clearing just outside the city. It was a short walk to the small market district; their company of men could patronize the shops and taverns once their camp chores were complete.

The Arl of South Reach had left Denerim the day before the Wardens' party, but as he had a smaller entourage and fewer provisions, he had made it home a couple of days before the Wardens arrived. Leonas Bryland, his daughter, Habren, and his seneschal Samson greeted Lhiannon and Loghain as they approached the arl's home, presenting themselves before him as custom dictated. While Arl Bryland had greeted them warmly, Habren had appeared bored with the entire proceeding; her gaze and attention had often wandered as they spoke. The Arl had offered them—and the other Grey Wardens—dinner and lodging in his home for the evening. While Lhiannon had been more than just a little tempted to sleep in a comfortable bed with a stomach full of fine food and a cozy fire burning nearby, she had known what Loghain's reaction would be. Had they only been traveling with the Grey Wardens alone, he likely would have accepted such an offer—even if he would have later groused about it in private. In this case—with a compliment of soldiers with them—Lhiannon had known what his opinion would be before Loghain had even voiced it. Together, she and Loghain had thanked Arl Bryland for his gracious offer, but had decided to stay amongst their Wardens and soldiers. Bryland had grinned knowingly at Loghain's words, not surprised by the decision at all. While he had acquiesced to the Arl and Arlessa of Amaranthine's decision to stay amongst their entourage, he had insisted that they still join him, his family, and senior advisors for dinner, which they had done after seeing to the setup of camp.

Lhiannon thought back on that greeting with a small degree of longing as she and Loghain entered their tent for the evening, sated from the meal they had shared with Bryland, Habren, and their closest advisors and vassals. Loghain groaned as he stooped over to enter the tent, a small and sharp hiss of pain escaping him as he closed and secured the flap behind them.

What is it?" Lhiannon asked, helping him pull his dark cloak from his shoulders, where she set it atop a small chest within their tent.

Loghain reached up and placed a hand on the back of his neck, his fingers moving against the skin. "I am not a young man; the rain and chill have settled into me with a vengeance. It is nothing."

Sitting on the layer of furs beneath them, Lhiannon patted their opened bedroll. "Nonsense. Let me see what I can do to help ease those aches and pains."

A smirk crossed Loghain's face. "You're going to use a healing spell?"

Lhiannon rolled her eyes skyward. "Keep that up and I could confuse a healing spell for an entropy spell. All it takes is a few different words."

With a snort, Loghain first removed his fine boots and tunic, neatly arranging them into a small pile in a nearby corner of the tent. Wearing just his trousers, he settled himself onto the bedroll, lying on his stomach so that his bare back was exposed. Lhiannon reached into the nearby chest and removed a small pack of medicinal poultices, producing a small jar of grape seed oil from within. She hiked up the skirt of her long gown, settling herself across Loghain's waist. Pulling the cork from the stopper, Lhiannon poured a small amount of the oil into the palm of her hand, rubbing them together and infusing it with a small amount of magical fire to warm it. She placed her hands on Loghain's skin near the base of his neck, massaging the oil into his skin. A hiss of pain escaped his lips and he tensed for a moment before the heat and oil began to loosen the knots under his skin.

"Maker," Lhiannon said, kneading the tight muscles of Loghain's neck and shoulders, "what have you been doing?"

Loghain scoffed lightly. "Madam, I have two hard decades of age on you. My aging body _does_ pain me, despite the appearance I must show to the outside world."

Lhiannon added more oil to the palm of hand, heating it gently before placing her hands on his lower back, pushing her hands up along his spine. Loghain relaxed and groaned appreciatively as she ran her warm, slippery hands along his knotted flesh, first from waist to neck, and then back down again. She grinned at his reaction. "Then it must be nice to have a mage around to work all these aches and pains away."

"Or, give me new, pleasurable ones." Loghain turned his head slightly, a brow raised in wicked humor as he caught her eye.

Warmth began to spread upward from Lhiannon's hands, penetrating her body and gathering in her core, where it began to thrum within her. Her heart seemingly skipped a beat as a wry grin pulled at one corner of her mouth. Her brows lifted.

"Are you playing with me?" she asked, moving her hands slowly up the loosening muscles of his back, massaging the oil deeply into Loghain's skin. She adjusted her position as he moved beneath her, turning so that he faced upward. His eyes were becoming heavy, darkening as she held them in her gaze. Adding a small amount of oil to her palms, she began to move her hands across his chest, the touch slow and deliberate against his skin. Their eyes remained fixed upon each other.

Loghain reached up and placed his hands on her waist, adjusting her position so that her bottom brushed up against his growing hardness. "Not yet, but I would very much like to."

Lhiannon traced her fingers along the muscles of Loghain's chest, rubbing the oil into his skin with a firm, yet gentle, touch. She brought her hands toward his chest, lightly brushing his nipples with the pads of her thumbs. He closed his eyes and groaned low in his throat as she flicked the tiny buds of flesh. Her fingers moved to trace the muscles of his abdomen, her fingers feather light against his warmed skin as he shuddered beneath her.

Calloused hands moved under the pooled fabric of Lhiannon's gown to rest on her thighs, slowly moving up toward her waist. When Loghain's hands arrived, they pushed up the bunched fabric. Lhiannon reluctantly pulled her hands from Loghain's skin, reaching up and over her shoulders to untie the silken laces holding the bodice of her gown in place. Loghain sat up, pulling the gown up and off of Lhiannon so that she sat in his lap wearing only her smallclothes. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned forward to nuzzle it as he reached behind her, loosening her breastband and pulling it free. One hand found her breast as the other dipped lower, seeking. As he began to circle her nub, Lhiannon lost all coherent thought.

Later, as Lhiannon lay against Loghain's shoulder, sated and drowsy, she realized that she really did not miss her bed that much after all, not with Loghain's warm body at her side. She snuggled closer to him, wrapping an arm around him. The slow and steady rise and fall of his chest lulled her into a contented sleep, where their passion continued unabated in the Fade.

* * *

_I decided to move the Zevran and Leliana show to the back burner for a chapter or so. Part of me needed to get back to the trek to South Reach just so we can keep up with what Lhiannon and the Wardens are up to. Also, I moved it because I'm a little stuck on Zevran's part in the next chapter. Hopefully, I'll have that straightened out soon! Geez, writing is sometimes so hard!_

_Also, thanks to Wyl for the idea surrounding the argument between Lhi and Anders. It made complete sense to me when you mentioned that Anders wouldn't be too happy to have a templar/ex-templar within the Warden ranks, especially given his feelings about them later on in Kirkwall. Not that that Anders is my favorite Anders (and I know it's not your favorite Anders either!). :p  
_

_For those of you that haven't heard (or—shameless self promotion plug here—read it in "Revelations"), Baby is a girl! She's got big feet and has been kicking me like crazy in the past few days. And, oh boy, they're going to get even harder!  
_

_The lovely and talented Seika (or xseikax as you know her on FF) drew an awesome picture of Lhiannon that I just adore! Go check it and her other works out: ht tp:/ ladyseika. deviantart .com/ art/Lhiannon-Amell-300940242  
_

_Many thanks go out to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Oleander's One, Suilven, naomis8329, Wyl, Shakespira, Arsinoe, Reyavie, JackOfBladesX, Seika, and Tyanilth. Your comments, suggestions, and constructive criticisms mean the world to me and help me improve as a storyteller.  
_

_Thanks to those of you that lurk, alert, and favorite the story as well!  
_


	51. Sowing the Seeds of Doubt

_**A big thank you to Suilven for her help with this chapter. You put my own doubts to rest about this one! :)**_

* * *

"I could use a little bit of help here!"

Lhiannon pulled Spellweaver from the chest of a dead hurlock, whipping her head from side to side to find Oghren standing several yards away from her, swinging his large axe in wide circles as he attempted to fend off several snarling genlocks that had surrounded him. They were closing the circle around Oghren—a snare with the angry, swearing dwarf in the center. The band of darkspawn had appeared in their path as the first of the Dalish aravels had become visible in the distance. They were disorganized without an archdemon, but still fought with a savage ruthlessness.

Oghren quickly ducked the incoming blade of a genlock, swinging his axe and burying one of the double blades into the creature's side. His roar of triumph overpowered the squeals of pain from the mortally wounded darkspawn. "Come on, you sodding nughumpers! Is that all you asschabs got? My grandmother can fight better than you!"

Raising her hand, Lhiannon chanted the words to conjure fire, carefully aiming at the largest and quickest of the genlocks while trying to keep the flames from injuring Oghren. As the last word of the incantation left her lips, a jet of flame flew from Lhiannon's outstretched hand to land on two of the genlocks surrounding Oghren. The darkspawn roared in pain, flailing arms in an attempt to swat away the source of their agony. Slightly singed, Oghren swung his great axe again, the blade cutting into the shoulder of the closest burning darkspawn. The smell of corruption intensified as dark blood fountained from the dying creature, mixing with the flames to create an even more noxious odor.

"Hey! Watch the flames!" Oghren exclaimed as he yanked his axe free. Lhiannon rushed to his side, brandishing Spellweaver at an approaching genlock. The dwarf appeared to be in high spirits as he fought the darkspawn; he had always enjoyed taking out his rage on them.

The genlock advanced, hissing and snarling as it did so. "I'm not the one that ran head first into a pack of darkspawn," Lhiannon said, swinging Spellweaver with both hands, connecting with the sword arm of the approaching genlock. The darkspawn howled in pain, but kept advancing even as its tainted blood poured from the wound. Lhiannon parried the creature's weakening swings, quickly blasting the creature in the face with another, smaller jet of flame. She squinted as the spell scorched the genlock, the searing heat causing tears to burn in her eyes and blur her vision.

"Heh, I'm just throwin' caution to the wind," Oghren said, shoving the blunt end of his axe into the stomach of a hurlock that tried to join the floundering genlocks. "Run headlong into danger… sod the consequences."

As the hurlock doubled over, Oghren quickly moved to the side, swinging the gore covered blade of his axe into the creature's neck. The nearly severed head lolled forward for a moment before the body fell to the ground with a thump, blood and gore splashing onto Oghren's already coated armor. He placed his foot on the hurlock and yanked his axe free before turning toward Lhiannon and giving her a lopsided grin. "Only way to live."

The sounds of panicked screams and shouts could be heard through the trees, nearly drowned out by the gnashing and growling of darkspawn. Lhiannon turned to the other Wardens, beckoning them close with a shout. She pointed toward Anders—who was quickly gulping down a lyrium draught—and a gore-streaked Sigrun.

"You are with me… we'll follow Oghren toward the camp, since he's been here before." Lhiannon turned to look at Loghain, also covered with darkspawn gore but sporting a deep scowl on his face. "Loghain, you will direct the men to follow behind us. If you see a flanking opportunity, take it. Anders and I will try to herd the darkspawn away from the camp with our spells. If we can force them into a vice, we can take them out."

Lhiannon could tell from Loghain's expression that he was not entirely happy with her plan, but, to his credit, he said nothing in front of the others. "Yes, Commander. We will be ready."

With a nod, Lhiannon beckoned her companions forward. "Oghren, lead the way."

"Heh. With pleasure."

* * *

Anwen cursed loudly as the arrow left her bow, a spilt second too late to save one of the warriors from the death blow of a large darkspawn. The curses were partly directed at herself as well as at the horrifying creatures that were inundating her clan. This band of darkspawn was the largest she had ever encountered in her time as a Grey Warden. Until this point, darkspawn attacks had been infrequent and their numbers had been small enough that only a few Dalish warriors and archers had been needed to turn back the attack. Injuries had been infrequent in those attacks and only a handful of warriors had died.

Until now.

The invading darkspawn in this band easily numbered several dozen and were beginning to overrun the camp. Anwen had felt their presence before they had arrived, stirring the warriors as she had in the past. However, as this band had drawn closer, her stomach and heart had begun to sink in unison; the pull on her tainted blood had not evened out as the creatures had approached, but had only grown stronger. When the first cries from the scouts had reached her ears, she had quickly sought out her uncle Varathorn, telling him to give weapons and bows to every able bodied elf willing to fight. She had then sprinted to the nearest tree and had pulled herself up among the branches to give her the advantage of height. As the first of the creatures had appeared on the edges of the camp, she had even found herself wishing the Grey Wardens would arrive, and now would be an excellent time.

Though arrows continued to rain down upon the invaders from the trees and aravels, the darkspawn were clearly gaining the upper hand. Despair threatened to overwhelm her at the sight of her clanmates—her friends, family, and extended family—fighting and dying in what appeared to be a fruitless battle. Her clan was being exterminated. Before she could give voice to the rage that built inside her, movement from the corner of her eye drew her attention to the far side of the camp where several heavily armed figures appeared amongst the aravels, spreading out to engage the darkspawn. Anwen watched as magical fire burst forth from the hands of a male shemlen, pushing the darkspawn away from the perimeter of the camp. Two dur'genlen were with them, charging into small groups of darkspawn and cutting them down with little trouble. It was then that Anwen realized her blood responded to the newcomers and, more than that, the sounds of many armored feet approaching reached her sharp ears.

The Grey Wardens had finally arrived.

At the head of the small band of armored figures was a woman who had to be the Commander, given the dark armor with a double griffon on the breastplate. Anwen saw that female shemlen brandished a sword that appeared to be of elven design, similar to some of the smaller knives that her uncle Varathorn had forged in the past. Curiosity dawned inside her, but before she could reason out why a shemlen woman would have an elven sword, a snarl from below captured her attention. Two darkspawn were nearing her position on a beeline toward the center of the camp. Quickly slinging her bow across her back, Anwen pulled two daggers from sheaths at her waist, turning the blades downward in her hand a second before she leaped from her position. She landed on the back of the first creature, driving her blades into its neck and twisting them simultaneously. The smell of rot overwhelmed her, threatening to turn her stomach to liquid.

The second creature spun around and bellowed a war cry, swinging his sword in a downward arc toward Anwen. She shifted her weight to the side, pulling one of the daggers free from the dead creature. She felt the whistle of air as the sword passed by her, close enough to feel the light movement of air across her skin. Before the darkspawn could counter, Anwen plunged her dagger into the back of its leg, severing muscle and tendon at the knee. The leg buckled, causing the creature to fall toward her. She braced herself against the darkspawn's weight as it stumbled, snarling and gnashing its teeth in an attempt to bite her. With a grunt, she pushed the darkspawn away from her, twisting awkwardly as the weight fell behind her. As she pulled her second dagger from the first creature's neck, Anwen saw a heavy axe connect with the creature next to her, severing the head and putting an end to the creature's growling. Looking up, Anwen saw it was the bearded dwarf at the other end of the weapon's handle, a smug grin on his face as his eyes quickly roamed her body before settling on her face.

"That's how you kill a darkspawn. I can tell you're impressed."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes or use her knife to change the octave of the dwarf's voice, Anwen nodded. "I thank you for the timely assistance."

The dwarf waggled his bushy brows at her. "I can help you more _later_. You know, in your wagon."

"It's an _aravel_, dwarf. And no, I highly doubt you can help me with anything else."

The dwarf shrugged, yanking his axe free of the cooling darkspawn body. "Offer still stands. Few can resist the charms of ol' Oghren."

This time, Anwen could not help but roll her eyes at him as she stood. "I'm sure it will be a challenge."

A cry for help echoed across the camp. Anwen felt her stomach sink as she recognized the cry even before she turned in the direction the voice had come from. She pulled her bow from her back, turning toward the sound of her uncle Varathorn as he struggled against several darkspawn that had caught him between their group and the aravel in which he conducted business. The darkspawn were too close for him to use any of the bows within reach; he was trying to hold them back with an ironbark blade. Anwen could see that he was filthy and bleeding, no doubt from injuries the darkspawn had delivered. She began to sprint across the camp to aid him. As she drew closer to the melee, she calculated distances and trajectories in her mind. She was still too far away for an accurate arrow hit but that did not mean harrying the creatures and diverting their attention was impossible.

Just as she was readying an arrow for flight, a large shemlen man in dark armor bearing a single griffon charged around the side of the aravel, his shield slamming into the nearest darkspawn and sending it careening into an adjacent one. Anwen heard him shout to Varathorn to get behind him as he put his heavily armored body between her uncle and the darkspawn. The shemlen Warden dispatched the darkspawn threatening her uncle one by one, even after one of them managed to get an armored hand through his defenses to strike him on the head with the pommel of its weapon, nearly knocking the shemlen senseless.

Racing toward her uncle, Anwen pulled her daggers once more. She began thrusting them into the darkspawn from behind as her uncle came out from behind the Grey Warden to assist once the numbers of darkspawn assaulting them were down to just a handful. After several moments, the remaining creatures lay dead at their feet. The respite gave Anwen time to quickly look at Varathorn to make sure he was all right before turning back toward the camp.

Between the Dalish warriors, the Grey Wardens, and their support troops, the darkspawn had been pushed out of the camp proper and into the forest itself. The hissing and growling of the darkspawn was far less intense that it had been a short time ago, a testament to the assistance of the army. Anwen saw the woman with the elven sword—the Commander of these Grey Wardens—swing it toward a small band of darkspawn approaching her. At first, Anwen thought the Commander had made a mistake and her swing would miss, but then gasped as magical fire leaped from the sword to incinerate the creatures before her. Her mouth first gaped, and then clamped shut with the clicking of her teeth.

_She uses the fighting skills of ancient Arlathan? But how? They have been lost to our people for centuries—they were legend even then... not even the Keepers have been able to unlock the secrets of those skills—and now a _shemlen_ knows the art?_

Anwen was not sure if she should be impressed or offended by the skills of the shemlen Commander. At any rate, she would make sure the Keeper knew of this woman's skills, if she did not know already. The more Anwen thought about it, the more offended she became. It was yet another example among many of all the things the Dalish had lost to the shemlens and their desire to make all races like them... to worship their god and live in their cities and serve their needs above all others.

Anwen hated them. Nothing the Keeper could tell her about duty or responsibility would change that.

* * *

After the last of the darkspawn had been killed or fled, those that were not injured began to care for those that had been. Anders moved about the elves and the Wardens' men, using his magic to heal those that were gravely injured. Broken bones were healed, wounds cauterized, and poultices applied to those in the most need. Dalish healers circulated among them as well, using their medicinal knowledge of plants, herbs, and barks to tend to the more minor injuries.

The Grey Wardens had the task of retrieving and burning the bodies of the dead darkspawn, loading them into a spare aravel and moving them a distance away from the clan for the disposal. Lhiannon called upon her power, incinerating the bodies until they were little more than ash and bone fragments.

Keeper Lanaya, who had been slightly injured in the chaos of the attack, had insisted on burying the elven bodies and planting trees over them as per their ancient custom. Lhiannon had spoken quietly to her as the Dalish had begun to dig graves and gather saplings for their dead. The best thing to do, Lhiannon had explained, was to burn the bodies before burying what remained; the Blight sickness was nothing to take chances with. Lanaya had been uncomfortable with the concept of cremating the dead, but had known that it was likely the best way to ensure that the clan suffered no more losses.

Once the somber tasks were well underway, Lhiannon asked to speak with the Keeper privately. The Keeper nodded, guiding Lhiannon toward a circle of aravels near the center of the camp. As they entered the perimeter, Lhiannon saw a small, yet brightly colored tent in the space between the aravels. Lanaya pulled the flap of the tent aside, allowing Lhiannon to enter ahead of her. A low table was the only piece of furniture inside, set on a layer of colorfully woven mats. Lanaya approached the low table, settling herself on the floor of the tent at the head of the table.

"This is our meeting area," Lanaya explained, reaching toward an earthenware pitcher and set of cups on the table. She poured water into one of the cups, handing it to Lhiannon before pouring one of her own. "I, my apprentice, and the elders of the clan often meet here to discuss matters important to the clan as a whole. The aravels outside allow us a bit of privacy, though our clansmen know not to disturb the perimeter while we are meeting."

The Keeper took a small sip of her water. "Now, Warden-Commander; what can I do for you?"

Lhiannon reached for the pack at her side, setting it on the table and reaching inside for the rich packet of vellum with the royal seal that she knew lay within. She found herself taking a deep breath, slightly nervous at presenting such an important document to the Dalish Keeper. She pulled the packet out and handed it to Lanaya, who studied the wax seal for a moment before breaking it to open the document.

"I have been tasked with bringing this document to you, Keeper. It is a proclamation from the King and Queen of Ferelden granting the Dalish a section of land east of here to settle as you see fit. King Alistair and Queen Anora have not forgotten the sacrifices of your people; this is their way to thank you for your contributions toward ending the Blight."

It grew quiet for several moments as Lanaya read the proclamation from the Crown, her face a mask of neutrality. Lhiannon studied her expression, unsure of what the Keeper was thinking. Would she accept the offer outright? Alistair seemed to think that the Dalish would jump at the chance at establishing a new homeland in Ferelden. Lhiannon hoped Lanaya would view the proclamation with the sincerity in which it was offered; the Crown wanted to honor the sacrifice and bravery of the Dalish elves in a way that was more than a simple 'thank you.'

When Lanaya finished studying the proclamation, she raised her eyes to meet Lhiannon's. "I would like to discuss this proclamation with my apprentice and the clan elders, as this directly affects them and their families as well. I do not wish to make a unilateral decision on a matter such as this."

Lhiannon's brows furrowed. "Will you have an answer for me before we return to Denerim? The King and Queen will surely want to know what you're thinking… or if you need more time to decide…"

With a raised hand, Lanaya gave Lhiannon an answer. "I intend to have a decision for you before you leave on your quest to seal the breach."

"Thank you, Keeper."

A fast decision then. Lhiannon was not sure if that was a good thing or not. On one hand, a quicker decision meant that the Dalish could set up their settlement in the near future, which would certainly please Alistair and Anora. Trading could begin in earnest and formal relations between the Fereldans and Lanaya's clan could be established.

On the other hand, a quick decision might also mean that the elves would not accept the proclamation. They might think the humans were trying to subjugate them again, relocating the Dalish—and perhaps even the city elves—to a single area of the country where they could be corralled or just simply kept away from the humans. Lanaya's face had been carefully neutral as she had read the parchment, so Lhiannon simply did not have any indication of which way the Keeper leaned.

"Keeper," Lhiannon said after a moment of consideration, "may I speak with Warden Anwen here privately? I have not had the opportunity to meet her yet, and I think perhaps a one-on-one meeting with me may be less intimidating than meeting all the Grey Wardens at once."

A wry grin pulled at Lanaya's lips. "I don't think you need to worry about her feeling intimidated or nervous, Warden-Commander. I will send her to you."

* * *

The maddening itch of the taint in her blood told Lhiannon that a Grey Warden was approaching as she sat at the low table, eyes closed in meditation. The feel of the taint was slightly different, telling her almost immediately that this was one who was put through the Joining after the death of Urthemiel. The rustling of the tent flap a moment later caused Lhiannon to open her eyes.

Before her stood an elf with nearly white hair, pulled away from her face in a series of intricate braids. Her eyes were an emerald green unlike any she had seen before in humans. Like most elves, she had a slender build, but her broad shoulders, chest, and firmly toned arms betrayed her status as an archer.

The look on Anwen's face—stern and nearly hostile—reminded Lhiannon of another Dalish elf of recent acquaintance. If Anwen wore the robes of a Keeper and had an ironbark staff, she could nearly pass for Velanna. Lhiannon sighed to herself, reminded of the tempestuous relationship with Velanna and how she had left Amaranthine in the dead of night, likely searching for her sister, Seranni, in the Deep Roads. Lhiannon felt a degree of discomfort at the resemblance between Anwen and Velanna, but quickly quashed it. _Anwen is _not_ Velanna; don't start off on a bad foot with this one, if you can help it._

"Anwen," she said, standing and nodding her head in greeting to the newest of the Grey Wardens. "I am Warden-Commander Lhiannon Amell-Mac Tir. I am honored to finally meet you."

"Warden-Commander."

"At a meeting such as this—a more informal one—you can call me by my name."

Anwen lifted her chin slightly. "I prefer Warden-Commander, if it's all the same to you."

"As you wish then," Lhiannon said, gesturing toward the low table, an invitation to sit. Anwen looked at the table first and then Lhiannon, clearly debating the invitation. After a moment Anwen shrugged the bow off her shoulders, setting it on the low table between them.

"That is a beautiful bow," Lhiannon said, reaching out with a finger to touch the intricate runes carved into the wood. Before she could complete tracing one of the signs, Anwen pulled the weapon back slightly, breaking Lhiannon's contact with it. Lhiannon sighed to herself. _This is going to be tough enough without her prickly attitude._

"You're a mage," Anwen said. It was a statement, Lhiannon noticed, and not a question.

"I am."

"Trained by one of your shemlen Circles?"

Lhiannon fought against bristling at the insult implied in Anwen's voice, hoping that by showing no reaction it would discourage her from continuing such behavior. It was likely a task easier said than done.

"Yes, Warden. I was trained at Kinloch Hold."

"And yet you fight with the skills of ancient Arlathan." Anwen crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing at Lhiannon. "It offends me, seeing skills lost to my people for generations being used by a shemlen..."

Lhiannon held up a hand in warning, her voice taking a hard tone. "Warden..."

Anwen was not deterred. "... Your people took everything from the Elvhen: our land, our freedom, and our gods. Humans infest the ancient cities, take elves as slaves, and try to force your religion on us. And when we resist, your people seek to exterminate us..."

A dull ache began to settle into Lhiannon's head, throbbing with every beat of her heart. She wanted nothing more than to pinch the bridge of her nose and perhaps send a bit of what rudimentary healing magic she knew into her skull. Were most Dalish elves and tribes as prickly as Velanna and Anwen were? Was Lanaya an exception rather than the rule? For a brief moment, Lhiannon considered an outright ban on recruits into the Wardens that were Dalish elves. She quickly dismissed the thought, knowing it was little more than a petty, if nonverbal, swipe at the woman before her.

Anwen had continued her diatribe as Lhiannon's thoughts whirled about her head. "… just as bad as the ancient mage shemlens. If we don't capitulate and worship _your_ god and goddess, we are heathens that deserve annihilation!"

"Enough."Lhiannon leaned forward slightly, putting her hands on the table and hardening her expression. "Warden Anwen, you are out of line. While I respect the opinions of all the Wardens—including yours—there is a way to present your arguments and opinions respectfully. You are right in that the elves—all elves—have been mistreated by humans both in the past and today. Let me assure you that the Grey Wardens have a great deal of respect for the elves; it was an elf, Garahel, who killed the archdemon Andoral." Lhiannon paused, pointing a finger at her chest. "_My_ _people_ have also been persecuted since ancient times."

Anwen scoffed, shaking her head. "You're a shemlen… _no one_ persecutes you."

"And that's where you're wrong," Lhiannon said, her finger tapping on the top of the low table for emphasis. "I am a mage… I am the subject of fear and hatred for many who do not understand us or for those that blindly follow the most rigid of Chantry doctrine. I have a permanent scar on my chest because of that fear of mages. Not all mages lust for power like the Tevinters of old; most of us simply wish to live our lives free of ignorance, fear, and persecution. We _want_ to be a part of society, not ostracized from it." Lhiannon stood, sighing inwardly over her first conversation with the newest Grey Warden. While she had not expected it to be light and fluffy, she had hoped that they would have had a better start than this, and most certainly _not_ a cultural blame game.

"At any rate, Warden Anwen, I expect you to do your duty to your brothers and sisters now. That means joining us as we seal the breach and coming back to the compound in Amaranthine for additional training."

Anwen scoffed again as she rose to her feet. "Yes, Keeper Lanaya told me the same thing. I will do my duty, but only because my_ Keeper_ has asked me to."

Lhiannon bristled, this time not bothering to keep her exasperated expression at bay. "_Do… your… duty…_ I would rather we find common ground upon which to build a beneficial relationship, but I can't order you to stop being bitter and angry. Keep it from affecting your duty, Anwen." Before the elf could retort, Lhiannon left the tent and pinched the bridge of her nose. This time, she did channel a bit of healing magic into herself.

* * *

A short while later, Lhiannon found herself nearing the halla enclosure, watching as they grazed or lay on the ground, their curved horns bobbing gently with the movements of their heads. She leaned up against the rough fencing with a tired sigh. They were quiet company, which is what she longed for after the darkspawn and meeting the Dalish.

The meeting with Anwen had not gone as Lhiannon had hoped. Nathaniel had warned her that Anwen was prickly, even before the mission that saw her tainted and her then twin dying at their Joining. The similarities between Anwen and Velanna were eerily similar, which did not fill Lhiannon with confidence. Her relationship with Velanna had been testy at best; she wondered from time to time what she could have done differently to improve it. _But chasing after Seranni wasn't the priority Velanna demanded it be…_

Lhiannon squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples, willing the building pressure in her head to stop. Her mind raced, refusing to calm despite the solitude and serenity of the forest around her.

_"I mean no offense, Lhi, but that's a little hypocritical coming from you since Loghain is here."_ Though Anders' words to her about hypocrisy were not meant to sting, they nonetheless had. What made it even worse was that he was right; she _was_ being hypocritical, even if it was unintentional. Loghain _was_ the most experienced and likely the best warrior amongst them, yet he was her Second. His place was _supposed_ to be where she could not be: Amaranthine. They were not only Grey Wardens, but Arl and Arlessa. They had the citizens to think about as well. In this case, his place _should_ have been back at Amaranthine, to not only oversee the Wardens, but the people of the Arling as well.

Lhiannon ran her hands over her face, suddenly feeling far older and wearier than her years should make her. _Maker, I'm a terrible leader. Thanks, Alistair, for putting me into this position after Ostagar. Next time I see you, I'm putting a lightning bolt right where the sun doesn't shine. Just because._

One of the halla drew closer to where Lhiannon stood, its curiosity getting the best of it. Lhiannon gave the creature a small smile before turning her gaze back toward the camp where her Wardens mingled with the elves. Anders was deep in conversation with Keeper Lanaya's second, a young man with the scrawny build of one who had not reached full adulthood yet. Anders was leaning casually against a large evergreen, arms folded over his chest while he and the younger man talked.

Moving her eyes across the camp, Lhiannon saw Loghain speaking with Varathorn, perusing the craftsman's selection of ironwood bows as he did so. Varathorn still bore bruises from the fight with the darkspawn, but that was the worst he had to show for his injuries. He had been grateful for Loghain's assistance during the battle, offering a bow to Loghain as a show of thanks. Loghain had scoffed at the offer, saying that he need not be rewarded for performing his duty and that he would pay Varathorn for his weapon in a normal business transaction. As Lhiannon watched, Loghain picked up one of the bows, turning it over in his hands to admire the workmanship.

At another part of the camp, Sigrun and Oghren sat with the clan storyteller, listening intently to his words. Other elves sat around them, interjecting into the story every now and then. Even Oghren appeared captivated with the tale, his flask of ale on the ground between his feet as his fingers thoughtfully twirled one of the braids in his beard.

For a few moments, Lhiannon's mind simply wandered over the camp, listening to the sounds of chatter and the gentle breeze whispering through the trees. The halla nearby took another tentative step closer as it continued to study Lhiannon; soon, she would be able to reach out and touch it. Lhiannon sighed as her thoughts began to churn once more.

Did the Wardens see her as playing favorites, especially with Loghain? None of them had mentioned anything until Anders had, but did they keep silent only for the sake of her status as Commander or even because they were too polite to say anything? If she _was_ playing favorites—intentionally or not—did they respect her enough to tell her? Was this affecting her judgment? She knew it was virtually impossible to remain completely impassive where Loghain was concerned—human nature notwithstanding—but could she be doing more in the eyes of the Wardens to leave her personal feelings for Loghain separate from her professional ones?

Loghain and Varathorn had moved away from the cart carrying his wares and over to a small archery practice range nearby. A quiver of arrows stood nearby; Loghain reached into the container and extracted an arrow, preparing to shoot it at the target a number of paces away. Lhiannon watched as Loghain raised the bow into position, taking careful aim before letting the arrow fly. It hit the target off center, but, judging by both Loghain and Varathorn's nods, both were content to continue testing the bow.

Loghain would almost certainly make for a better Warden-Commander than her, Lhiannon thought to herself with a sigh. He had led armies for years and was generally well respected for his achievements, mistakes of the last two years aside. But, Lhiannon thought, a number of men and women in the nobility had had their reservations about him even before the Blight; had that changed afterward? Would they object if Lhiannon decided to turn the Grey Wardens over to him? Then there were the elves; after what had happened during his regency, would any of them work with him as both Arl and Warden-Commander?

What about Sigrun? Lhiannon turned her gaze over to the bubbly dwarf, who was now smiling and laughing with one of the young elves gathered around the storyteller. She had some leadership experience with the Legion of the Dead and was probably the most well liked of all the Wardens. But, would her sunny personality make it difficult for her to make the difficult decisions or make her susceptible to waffling on them? Lhiannon sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Her thoughts turned toward the other Wardens as she squeezed her eyes shut. Oghren was a skilled warrior, but did his drinking impair his judgment? He had the respect of his fellow Wardens as a warrior, but was that where the respect ended? Nathaniel was from a noble family and trained in the ways of war while being squired in the Free Marches. If Lhiannon appointed him Warden-Commander, would the people of Amaranthine accept a Howe as their Arl, or were the wounds inflicted by his father still raw? And what would Fergus Cousland say? He would have to be consulted on any leadership change as well, since Amaranthine was still part of the Teyrnir of Highever. As for Anders, the Chantry would likely vehemently oppose another mage—and an apostate, no less—as Warden-Commander and Arl of Amaranthine.

If Lhiannon stepped down as Warden-Commander, it would mean she and Loghain would be simply Grey Wardens—no noble titles, no Landsmeets, no worries about inheritances or political infighting. There was little doubt in her mind that Loghain would welcome the absence of political maneuverings, though Cauthrien might wish to relinquish her stewardship of Gwaren and return the title to Loghain. Lhiannon doubted Loghain would agree to that, since they would still be Grey Wardens with all the responsibilities and duties of such. Besides, the future of Gwaren had already been spelled out between the Mac Tirs and Theirins in the recent past.

Another thought crossed Lhiannon's mind in that moment: stepping down as Warden-Commander and Arlessa would give her enemies cause to celebrate, saying their pressure and that of the Chantry drove her to capitulate to their demands. The thought made her bristle. What kind of message would that send about her? Would the message be that she would break if enough pressure was put on her? Was she willing to give her enemies both within and outside of the Chantry that type of victory? Would it reflect badly on the Crown, since they had appointed her to such a position?

In the distance, Varathorn adjusted the bow that Loghain was testing, nodding in satisfaction as Loghain's next shots hit close to the center. Even Anwen had drawn near, watching her uncle and Loghain closely as the arrows continued to cluster around the center mark. Even if she battled her own self-doubts regarding her title as Warden-Commander, there was one thing she never doubted: her love for Loghain. She knew she had made many mistakes in her life, but loving Loghain was not one of them. _Marrying_ him was not one of them. But, was making him her Second a mistake? It was not as if she had much of a choice in the days after Urthemiel was defeated and they had begun their slow rebuilding of the Fereldan Grey, but should she have waited until later to appoint a Second?

With a heavy sigh, Lhiannon watched as the halla closest to her settled itself onto the ground, closing its eyes in relaxation. Sleep would be hard to come by this night; her mind simply refused to quiet. Self-doubt was the last thing she needed as the closing of the breach loomed on the horizon, but she could not seem to find a way to put it to rest.

She would have to take a deep breath and lead the Wardens as best she could.

* * *

_Self doubt can be such an insidious thing; we all wrestle with it, probably more than we'd like to._

_A bit of shameless self promotion here. I've started another story, "What Had to Be." It's a Rowan centered piece that will roughly follow the time period from just before "The Stolen Throne" through her time as Queen of Ferelden. It won't be a complete retelling of TST, but you will recognize certain scenes and places from that story. Best way to find it is through my profile page (since FF isn't very link friendly, even to their own site!). :(  
_

_As always, thank you to reviewers Oleander's One, JackOfBladesX, Suilven, Shakespira, Arsinoe, Seika, Wyl, Ventisquear, naomis8329, and Tyanilth. You all are such fantastic reviewers... all of you have either given me awesome ideas, great concrit, or things to think about/consider. Thank you all so much for your continued support!  
_

_Thanks to you quiet lurkers as well!  
_


	52. Secrets and Sleepless Nights

_**Thanks to the big beta stick of Suilven for helping to beat this chapter into shape (and for the chapter title)!**_

* * *

Pressing her back against the door to her small bedchamber, Leliana closed her eyes and took several deep breaths in an attempt to still both her pounding heart and racing mind. Footsteps sounded just outside her door, stopping at either side of the frame. Silently chastising herself, she counted her breaths—one deep, slow inhalation and exhalation after another—until she felt some of the tension knotted within her fade away.

_You have been trained for years to suppress such feelings… remember who you are!_

Leliana set the book and a flask of white wine she had been carrying down on the small table next to her before rubbing her face with her hands, her thoughts beginning to still to the point where she could think upon what she just heard with an analytical mind. Dorothea would be arriving soon, so having her thoughts in order was critical; much could depend on it.

With closed eyes, Leliana let her mind go back over the events of the last hour. The Wardens had just finished their evening meal and were taking advantage of the few hours of free time they had before retiring for the evening. There had been groups of Wardens scattered about the compound; some had played cards or gambled with dice. Other Wardens had retired to their rooms to read, care for their armor, or simply sleep. Still others had ventured into Val Royeaux itself, seeking out entertainment in the taverns or houses of ill repute.

As for herself, Leliana had often walked the grounds of the compound or retired to her room with a book and a small pitcher of wine after the evening meal. This night was to be no different; she had had her wine in hand and had stopped by the small library within the compound for a book. She had begun her journey to her small room when she had heard the sounds of heated voices coming from within the smaller, private dining room that was often used for entertaining small parties of visiting Wardens or other guests. She had immediately recognized one voice as that of the Warden Commander, and a second, similar voice that had to be that of the Commander's brother. Leliana's brows had lowered at the sound of a third voice, authoritative and angry sounding. Curious, Leliana had drawn closer to the door, her light footsteps almost silent as she closed the distance. The Warden Commander had been, apparently, having a dispute of some sort with his guests.

"I have a duty to the Grey Wardens," Leliana had heard Jean-René say from beyond the door. "It is my duty—and the duty of all Wardens—to defeat blights and darkspawn, not to serve your political ambitions."

"Yet you forget your place," a mysterious third voice had said. It had the sound of authority—and the sound of having orders obeyed without question. "You were told to send your men into Ferelden during the Blight and you failed."

"Yes, and I did not appreciate how my men were to be used as a convenient cover! You both were fools to believe chevaliers would be welcome on their soil, especially given the death of their King and the ascendency of the Regent."

"The chevaliers were meant to _reinforce_ your Wardens against the Blight," the voice that sounded like the Commander's had said. "Your failure does not help our family's cause. Do as your commander bids and our family name will share in Orlesian glory once more."

_His commander?_ Leliana had thought to herself. _Is this man one of us?_

"To the Void with you and your plans for our family! Your ambition knows no bounds, Clotaire. I'm a Grey Warden; I no longer have a need for political titles or intrigue!" There had been a pause before Jean-René had continued. "The Wardens were stopped at the border; I was fortunate to have one man enter!"

"There are other paths of entry," Leliana had heard Clotaire say.

"And you should have utilized them; as a Grey Warden, you had a _duty_ to utilize them."

"No," the angry voice of Jean-René had retorted. "We are _not_ pawns!"

Once again, the mystery voice had spoken; Leliana had no need to see the man to hear the cold venom in his voice. "You will do as you are ordered, _Warden Commander, _or I will appoint someone who _will_ do as they are ordered."

To Leliana's surprise, the voice of a fourth man had joined the conversation. "And to disobey the Lady isn't wise, no matter whom you are."

"Just so, brother," Clotaire said. "Henri speaks the truth and you would do well to take heed."

Leliana had listened to the voices fall quiet, the silence deafening beyond the door. Instinct and the taint within her blood had told Leliana to quickly withdraw. She had opened her book, looking down into it as she had begun to walk away from the door as nonchalantly as possible. Barely a half dozen steps had been taken when she had felt a hand close around her arm, the vice like grip pulling her around until she had looked into the eyes of the Orlesian Warden Commander.

His eyes had narrowed as he had glared at her. "What are you doing here, Warden?"

Leliana had not had to feign the look of surprise on her face. "I was returning to my quarters with a book and some wine after dinner."

Jean-René had held her gaze for a long moment before pulling her down the hallway, motioning to two Wardens talking casually at the end of the hall. "Take Warden Laya to her quarters and remain there on guard; she is not to leave until I say so." The men had nodded in acknowledgment, one moving to either side of Leliana as she began to walk toward her quarters. Her mind had begun to race as she drew closer to her doorway, playing the conversation she had just heard over in her mind.

_What do they mean by 'plans?' And why would Jean-René speak of pawns? The Lady… why would _she_ have an interest in Grey Warden affairs, or Ferelden for that matter?_

* * *

Leliana brought her mind back to the present. The Warden Commander's conversation with his guests had clearly centered on the events of the Blight, which meant Ferelden was most likely the main topic of conversation. Why would Jean-René accuse his companions of using the Wardens as pawns? Were the chevaliers _really_ meant to help the Wardens, or were the instincts of then-Teyrn Loghain correct? What did Clotaire mean about their family returning to glory? And why was The Lady involved? Either way, the conversation left Leliana uneasy and with little in the way of answers.

Standing tall, she stretched in an attempt to rid her body of the tension that had built within her. As she reached skyward, she felt the gentle scratch of the parchment she kept hidden within a small pocket of her breast band. She was to meet Zevran and relay the information contained in her letter; thankfully, Dorothea had agreed to relay the information to him. That was, of course, if she would be allowed to see Leliana given what had just happened.

Leliana knew that she had to include what she had just heard, but could not just openly write it in the letter. There was little time to convert her information into the code that Loghain had taught them, as Dorothea was scheduled to arrive shortly and Leliana was reluctant to disclose the code in her presence, no matter how much she trusted her old confidante. She was also reluctant to verbally give Dorothea the information, and not just because the words could be easily misconstrued.

Running her hands through her colored hair, Leliana began to pace the floor of her small room, her mind racing as to how she could get an accurate, yet surreptitious, message to Zevran. After another moment spent pacing, she flopped onto her small bed with a large sigh and reached to the table next to her. Her book, the wine, and a small decanter of water rested on the top. Ignoring the water, she poured herself a glass of wine. She took a sip, enjoying the taste spreading across her tongue before she suddenly sat upright, looking at the liquid inside the glass.

Perhaps there was a way to get a message to Zevran after all. With a grin, Leliana reached into a drawer of the small table, pulling forth a sheet of parchment, inkpot, and quill. She began to quickly—yet lightly—write on the page and several minutes later, had several paragraphs of finely inked text. Blowing on the ink to help it dry faster, she then turned toward the wooden frame of her bed, prying loose a splinter of wood. After examining the splinter and finding it satisfactory, she picked up her cup of wine, draining most of it before adding a small amount of water. She lowered her nose to the cup and sniffed at the contents; with the water added, the smell of the wine was greatly diminished. As a lopsided grin pulled at her lips, she dipped the splinter into the diluted wine. The sounds of light scratching filled her ears as the splinter moved across the page.

* * *

_Brasca, where could she be?_

Zevran sat crouched amongst the shadows on the roof of the abandoned warehouse he and Leliana had chosen as their meeting place to exchange information. They needed to send an update back to Ferelden, but how could that be done when one of the ones with pertinent information was late? Leliana _knew_ when they were supposed to meet…

The urge to pace among the shadows was almost unbearable, but Zevran kept his place. It was best to stay where he was in case anyone nearby just happened to be scanning the rooftops. The last thing he wanted was a curious onlooker calling out or otherwise investigating.

His mind wandered back over what he had observed in the recent past. It had become clear to Zevran soon after Clotaire and Henri had left the tavern the evening before that their destination had been the Grey Warden compound. He had followed behind them at a discreet distance, had used the shadows and small groups of people traversing the streets as cover. As Clotaire and Henri had passed yet another noble estate, a man dressed in grand attire had joined them. The man had simply fallen into step with Clotaire and Henri, the pace of their steps never slowing. They had walked swiftly, closing the distance between them and the Warden compound in short order.

Zevran's mind had raced as he contemplated the men ahead of him and how to determine the identity of the third man that had joined Clotaire and Henri. He could have attempted to flank the men and station himself ahead of them, but with the distance between them and the compound rapidly running out, Zevran would have had to risk drawing unwanted attention to himself by ducking and running through alleys. That in itself had risks, as it would have required Zevran to break visual contact with the men.

_And what if I had actually succeeded in flanking them? Or even followed them into the compound? Should I have thrown caution to the wind?_

Zevran scoffed quietly to himself; contemplating the 'what ifs' was ultimately self-defeating. Knowing the Grey Wardens as he did—the Fereldan variety, anyway—he knew the risks of discovery would have been great. After all, there were likely those within the Orlesian compound who rivaled his own skills. He had to admit to himself that even Nathaniel Howe—had he been given Crow training—would have proven quite a challenge to his skills. Not to say that Howe was unskilled, but with additional training—

Scuffling sounds from nearby brought Zevran's thoughts to a halt. He held his breath, listening intently to the sounds of the night around him. The light breeze rustled through shutters and wind chimes in the distance. Feral cats fought in a nearby alley, their snarls and growls carrying through the district. Zevran slowly brought his hand to his ear, cupping it to guide even the most subtle sounds inside. There—the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps along the rooftop. From his estimate, the stranger's feet were likely clad in shoes with soft leather soles. Zevran should have felt relief at hearing footsteps, but these were not the steps he was listening for. He slid his other hand down to the sheath at his belt, slowly drawing the dagger from within. It came free with barely a whisper, the darkened blade nearly indistinguishable from the night around it.

"That's quite close enough," Zevran said, his voice a low growl toward the figure that had emerged from the darkness nearby. From the slender build he could tell it was a woman, but not the one he had been waiting for.

"I come at the behest of a mutual friend," the woman said, her voice also low. She held her hands out in a sign of supplication from where she stood several paces away. "A friend that knew you would be waiting here."

"Indeed? Then perhaps you would like to explain why you are here and not our mutual friend."

A light laugh escaped from the lips of the woman before him. "Our friend thought you might need convincing, so this is what I am to say to you: you both have another mutual friend in Ferelden, one who slayed a rather troublesome dragon atop a fort in Denerim."

"What else?" Zevran motioned with his hand for the woman to continue.

"When you met this other mutual friend for the first time, you tried to kill her."

"That is all but common knowledge, my friend." Zevran brought the dagger out into the open, making sure the woman before him could see it. "There are few who do not know that story, for it is a good one to tell."

Even in the low light, Zevran saw a smile spread across the woman's face, her teeth reflecting the low light. "But what isn't widely known is that you told your friend that there are worse fates in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess."

Zevran nearly chuckled aloud at the memory of his first meeting with Lhiannon; it seemed almost a lifetime ago. Only a handful of people knew of that story and had witnessed Zevran's fortunate failure at carrying out the contract that Rendon Howe and then-Regent Loghain had set him on. Leliana had been one of those people that had witnessed his failure, and therefore would have known exactly what it was that he had told Lhiannon that fateful day as he lay on the ground, injured but, thankfully, alive.

He sheathed his dagger, motioning the woman forward. "It was certainly as you say, for few observed that event. Now that I know who has indeed sent you, might I have the pleasure of your name?"

"My name is Dorothea."

"Ah," Zevran said, tilting his head knowingly. "I have heard of you. You are Chantry." With one last glance around them, Zevran moved back into the shadows atop the building, inviting Dorothea closer. They sat, heads close so that they could keep their voices low.

"So, tell me, Dorothea: why have you come and not Leliana?"

"Leliana is currently at the Grey Warden compound; she is safe, but not welcome to leave. The commander, Jean-Rene Alune, intends to return her to Ferelden." Dorothea lowered her voice even further. "She has given the commander her assumed name, but she is also fairly certain that he knows she is not telling him the whole truth about her Warden status."

Zevran brought a hand up to his chin, rubbing it as he thought. "When did you last speak to her?"

"Just before I came to meet you." Dorothea reached into her cloak, pulling a folded piece of paper from within and handing it to Zevran. Several dabs of ordinary candle wax held the seams of the parchment closed. "She bade me to give this to you. She also says that the ink is rather light, so make sure you have a strong light when you read it."

* * *

As suspected, sleep was a stranger to Lhiannon as the Wardens and their men camped around and among the Dalish clan. She had lost track of time as she lay staring up at the fabric of the tent above her, Loghain's deep, even breathing and occasional snores her only source of company during the long night. Several times during the night—when she knew she had only rested briefly and fitfully—she considered having a sleep spell cast on her, but had quickly nixed the idea. There had only been a few times in her life that she had been under the influence of a sleep spell and, more often than not, she had awakened feeling anything but refreshed. Finally, after realizing that sleep was simply not in her immediate future, she quietly rose and dressed, quickly exiting the tent so as not to disturb Loghain.

Looking toward the center of the Dalish camp, Lhiannon saw a low fire burning with several figures seated around it. One of the figures was Lanaya, who held a small cup in her hand and was in conversation with one of the Dalish seated next to her. Lhiannon was unsure if joining them was a wise idea, but decided that company was better than being by herself and consumed with her racing mind and doubts.

Lanaya saw her coming and waved her over with a smile. As Lhiannon sat, Lanaya reached toward an old teakettle nestled in the coals of the fire, pouring the steaming tea into a cup and handing it to Lhiannon. The tea smelled of berries and herbs and when she sipped it, she detected a hint of honeycomb as well.

After several minutes of silence while Lhiannon enjoyed her tea, Lanaya made a motion to the few other elves around the fire. They quietly moved away, blending in with the shadows of the aravels and trees with an almost magical grace.

"Warden Commander, I met with the elders of the clan last evening. We discussed the proposal sent by the King and Queen."

Lhiannon set her cup down at her feet, turning her body to face Lanaya directly. The Keeper's face was carefully neutral as she drained the last of her tea. When she finished, she met Lhiannon's questioning gaze.

"We wish to convey our deepest thanks for such an honor; however, it is with regret that we must decline it at this time."

A part of Lhiannon was not surprised to hear those words from the Keeper. She felt her lips purse slightly as she took a deep breath to center herself. "Keeper, may I ask why? King Alistair and Queen Anora will certainly want to know."

Lanaya turned her gaze toward the low fire, sighing slightly as she appeared to gather her thoughts. "I understand, Commander. What it comes to is this: you and I both know that the Chantry does not approve of the Dalish and our ways. While the Crown might be willing to give us land and forge a new peace, I hardly think your Chantry would follow suit. They have harassed and hunted the Dalish for decades and will not allow us a moment of peace until we have abandoned our gods and our way of life. I will not do that."

"A Keeper's duty is to keep the old ways alive and recover that which was lost," Lhiannon said, nodding her head in understanding.

"Yes, and the Chantry will not suffer that. The moment we establish a permanent settlement, clerics and templars will come to try and convert us to their ways through proselytizing and promises of the Maker's forgiveness for following our heathen ways. When we refuse—and we will—there will soon follow an army of templars. They will seek to take our people with magical aptitude to one of the Circles, and will forcibly remove any of us who refuse to convert to their beliefs."

Picking up her tea once more, Lhiannon turned to contemplate the fire. Lanaya had a very valid point. While not everyone associated with the Chantry would necessarily take up arms against the Dalish, there were others that would certainly advocate it. Ferelden was, after all, the land of Andraste's birth, and she could see elements within the Chantry vehemently opposing a permanent settlement of heathens all but in sight of the Birth Rock. The calls for an Exalted March would come quickly thereafter.

Lanaya's voice broke through Lhiannon's reverie. "I hope that, one day, the Dalish can accept such an offer from the Crown. Since the fall of The Dales, we have yearned for a permanent home."

"As do I," Lhiannon said, smiling at Lanaya. She drained the last of her tea and stood, looking around the camp to see the first of the Wardens and army beginning to stir as the horizon grew brighter in anticipation of dawn. She sighed, not completely looking forward to the long days ahead. "For now, however, I must prepare the Wardens and our party to leave. The days ahead promise to be difficult, so the sooner we get underway, the sooner our task will be done."

* * *

Not long after Lhiannon had left the central fire behind, her compliment of Wardens and soldiers stood on the outskirts of the Dalish camp, ready to begin their journey. She and the other Wardens—Loghain, Sigrun¸ Anders, Oghren, and Anwen—were referencing one of Loghain's maps of the forest, discussing the terrain and pointing off toward the distance. It was not completely necessary to have a map with their Warden senses pulling them east, but marking the exact location of the breach and any blight around it would be helpful for future Wardens. Lhiannon wanted to be sure there was a complete accounting of the Blight in Ferelden, so that future Fereldan Wardens would be more prepared than she and Alistair had been. Weisshaupt would likely ask for such an accounting as well.

The Wardens and their support would be breaking into three groups of various sizes. The first group—those heading to the breach—would be traveling on foot, carrying provisions with them in packs. Only a few pack animals would be accompanying them; the blight that covered the land often unsettled horses and other animals, so the majority of them would be left behind. A few volunteers from among the soldiers would accompany them to care for the pack animals and perform controlled burns of small blighted areas while the Wardens completed their task.

The second group of men and soldiers would remain in camp not far from the Dalish clan, caring for the remainder of the animals and provisions but ready to provide assistance to the Dalish or those heading for the breach if need be. Some of the elves had been wary of a small group of armed humans remaining among them, but had been assuaged slightly when Lhiannon offered to move her men to the outskirts of the clan's camp.

The third—and smallest—group of men were scouts, ready to return to Denerim with news from the Wardens and the Dalish clan's polite refusal of the Crown's offer of land. They also carried an update from Lhiannon to Nathaniel and Varel at Vigil's Keep, informing them of their itinerary now that the quest to the breach was about to begin. It was her plan to return to Vigil's Keep after their business with the breach was concluded. Returning home could not come soon enough; not only was Lhiannon a bit homesick for Vigil's Keep, but she could not shake the uneasiness the forest had given her. She knew the tales about the thinness of the Veil and how spirits and demons haunted the darker places—had seen evidence of it in the old Tevinter ruins first hand—which only served to fuel her unease and the feeling of eyes watching them.

"Warden Commander."

Keeper Lanaya's voice broke through Lhiannon's thoughts. She and the other Wardens turned to see the Keeper approaching with several others behind her, each one carrying a rough leather pack on their shoulders. They stopped just behind the Keeper as she approached Lhiannon, nodding a greeting to the other Wardens before speaking.

"I have come to wish you good fortune on your journey," Lanaya said, her voice formal before those gathered. She turned her head to the side and nodded; the elves behind her stepped forward, stopping before each Warden and presenting them with the pack that had been slung about their shoulders. Even the Keeper stepped forward, handing her own parcel to Lhiannon with a small smile. "We cannot provide much, but wanted to help you on your journey."

Lhiannon opened her pack, seeing inside two water skins and several packages wrapped in broad leaves. She lifted her gaze to meet that of the Keeper. The Dalish did not have supplies in abundance and Lhiannon briefly considered returning the satchels. She could not allow their sacrifice of provisions—no matter how small the amount—to cause undo hardship on the clan. After all, the Wardens did have enough in supplies for a fortnight's sojourn into the Deep Roads. However, the expectant look on Lanaya's face quashed any protest Lhiannon may have had; she did not wish to cause offense by refusing such a gesture from the clan.

The Keeper must have sensed Lhiannon's hesitation and sought to quell her reservations. "We don't have much, but wanted to give each of you some provisions for your journey: water, dried meat, and flatbread. You have done a great deal for our clan at a personal level, and the Grey Wardens under your command have labored to protect everyone—human, dwarf, and elf—from the Blight. Our people wish to honor your courage and sacrifice. I also wish to give you our blessing, if you would have it."

"Of course," Lhiannon said with a nod. She bowed her head as Lanaya lifted her hands to the sky, speaking in the ancient language of the elves for a moment. She then spoke in the common tongue.

"I have asked Mythal, our Mother and the Great Protector, to guide your steps and keep you and the Grey Wardens from harm as you seek to protect all life from that which would destroy it. May She keep those that would serve the will of the Dread Wolf far from you as you complete your task."

In the distance, the keening cry of a hawk filled the air. _I hope that's Mythal giving her approval_, Lhiannon thought to herself as the Wardens hefted their provisions, bid farewell to the Dalish, and turned east.

* * *

_Yes, the "lack of sleep" parts are most definitely art imitating life!_

_I thought a lot about the Dalish and the offer made to them. If they accept the offer and try to set up a permanent settlement, the Chantry (for one) likely won't be happy about it... not with their goal of spreading the Chant to all corners of the world. The Dalish won't give up their way of life or beliefs, and the Chantry won't stop what they feel is their mission to bring the Maker back to His people. Not only that, but many of the humans probably won't like that "knife ears" have been given special treatment by the Crown. I can see an eventual forced relocation of city elves to Dalish lands (because, I think, many humans see all elves as the same and would use the excuse of "they have land" to remove them from the cities and recoup those alienages for human use). If I were a betting girl, I'd also put my money on another Exalted March in the Maker's name.  
_

_A little housekeeping here. The baby is coming soon... like less-than-eight-weeks-from-my-due-date soon. I hope to continue writing as often as I can, but things are likely to slow waaaaaay down for a bit. I'm hoping that I can churn out shorter chapters to keep posting on some sort of schedule, but that all depends on what Baby decides Mommy is going to do. Rest assured: I do not intend to abandon any of my stories or artsy stuff. It will just be slow for a bit.  
_

_As always, a big, heaping, glomping thank you to reviewers Suilven, Wyl, Oleander's One, Shakespira, Arsinoe, Seika, JackOfBladesX, Ventisquear, Tyanilth, FallenAngel225, and naomis8329. You all totally make my day with your reviews (and are incredibly patient with me when I'm incoherent in my replies from lack of sleep).  
_

_Thank you to all of you following along! I very much appreciate your support.  
_


	53. Unto the Breach

_**Big thanks to the speedy and mighty beta stick of Suilven. Your encouragement and suggestions help so much. Have I told you that you're pure awesomesauce? :)**_

* * *

The plaintive, almost mourning, call of duck hawks overhead drew Lhiannon's attention upward toward a break in the canopy of trees around them, where she watched as the predators circled above on the air currents. They rose and fell as the breeze carried them, their sharp eyes no doubt looking for a free meal in the wake of following the band of travelers deeper into the Brecilian Forest.

_I doubt they'll find a meal to their liking by following us,_ Lhiannon thought to herself as she pulled her eyes from the sky to focus on the forest ahead of them. She removed a gauntlet and rubbed at her tired eyes, sighing slightly at their gritty feel. Sleep was something she craved, but also something she knew would not be coming in great amounts in the short term. Though the sun had risen well above the horizon, the forest seemed to become darker and more foreboding the longer they traveled. Birds had called to each other and small ground creatures had rustled in the underbrush when they had first started their journey earlier that morning; by now, however, those calls had noticeably diminished beneath the rustling of leaves and the creaking of branches high above them.

Oghren and Anwen had been charged with leading the group of Wardens and soldiers into the forest. The irony of a dwarf—who had lived beneath the earth for nearly his entire life—helping to lead a group of humans through a forest would normally have brought a chuckle to Lhiannon. She sensed that it also would have brought a guffaw or two from Oghren as well, but like her—and the others—Oghren was no doubt feeling the effects of the forest around them. Tension had built amongst the companions, making the air seem even more thick and oppressive that it would have been otherwise.

Mutterings of wariness and superstition also flitted through the soldiers accompanying them until the lieutenant in charge—an Amaranthine man named Preston who served as Sergeant Joana's right hand—firmly ordered a halt to their foolishness. Preston was a man not given to superstition, which was a major reason why the Sergeant had picked him to accompany the Grey Wardens on this part of the journey. As for the Sergeant herself, she remained behind with the others near the Dalish camp in case the breach expedition drove fleeing darkspawn toward the Dalish.

A halt was called when Oghren and Anwen began to bicker about which direction they should lead the others in while heading to the breach. Both had been looking for signs of their earlier passage through the forest and had only found a few. Anwen held a hand-drawn Dalish map in her hands, pointing out landmarks and generally dismissing Oghen's protestations that he _knew_ where he was going. After several moments, Loghain called out for both of them to stop their bickering and produced his own carefully drawn map of the forest to try and extrapolate his own way forward.

As Loghain consulted his maps, Lhiannon looked around them, cautiously peering through the underbrush and trees towering over them. The longer they had traveled through this part of the forest, the more _wrong_ it had felt. Not only had the feelings and signs of corruption gradually increased, but it also felt like the Veil had weakened in the process; it felt much like it had in the Blackmarsh months before, just before the Wardens had confronted the pride demon that had resided there. A shiver ran through her and she hugged herself in an almost unconscious gesture. The last thing they needed to encounter on their way to the breach was a pride demon, or any demon for that matter.

"You feel it, too."

Startled by the sudden voice, Lhiannon quickly turned and watched Anders approach, his eyes wary as he scanned the landscape around them. He held his staff in his hands, gripping the weapon so tightly that the leather of his gloves appeared stretched to the breaking point over his knuckles. That he was edgy as well only confirmed Lhiannon's suspicions.

"It's as if I could reach out and touch the Fade itself." Anders paused, bringing up a gloved hand to rub his temple. A painful looking wince crossed his face. "It wouldn't take much to bring my Fade spirit forward to help us if I had to."

Overhead, the breeze picked up slightly, its whispering moan through the leaves and creaking branches doing nothing to ease Lhiannon's apprehension. _It's bad enough that the corruption and feel of darkspawn are growing, but to have a sense of the Veil thinning? This day can't get much worse._ With another shiver that brought goosebumps to her skin, Lhiannon lowered her hand to Spellweaver's hilt, hoping to find a small amount of reassurance in the feel of the weapon at her side. There had not been an occasion to use the sword as of yet, but her instincts told her that that would likely change, and sooner rather than later.

"Yeah, I feel it, too. I don't like this one bit…" She let her voice drift off as her eyes roamed the landscape around them once more. According to both Oghren and Anwen, they would be within the vicinity of the breach before nightfall, which left Lhiannon asking herself if the Wardens should make camp for the night on the surface or continue into the breach. Making camp would give them a little extra rest—rest they would likely need as they investigated the area. However, would camping so close to—or even within—the breach leave them vulnerable to darkspawn attack? Could the breach have even sundered the Veil there? There was no way of knowing in advance and they could very easily walk into a situation where there would be no opportunity to rest.

Indecision threatened to freeze her in place, the doubts that had ran rampant through her mind the night before coming to the forefront of her thoughts once more. Should they just camp now, exchanging the waste of daylight travel for the relative safety of distance? Should they push on, waiting to make camp until they could see the breach, but risk constant darkspawn attacks, or even attacks from the Fade if the Veil was indeed thinner—or even pierced—there?

"Lhi? You all right?"

Bringing her thoughts back to the current situation, Lhiannon gave Anders a small smile that she hoped conveyed more confidence than she felt. "Yeah, Andy. It's just that this place makes me uneasy."

"All I can say is that if I have to go into the bushes to do the necessary, someone is coming with me," Anders said, glancing about warily once more; to Lhiannon, his expression looked very much like prey sensing a hunter closing in. "I'm not going _anywhere _around here without at least one of you with me; preferably with weapons drawn."

Footsteps approached from nearby, though Lhiannon did not need to hear them to know one of the Wardens approached. She turned to see Sigrun coming to her side, fingers nervously dancing on the hilts of her daggers. The oppressive, foreboding atmosphere was also taking a toll on the normally perky dwarf; her dark tattoos appeared to stand out even more prominently against her fair skin and her normally sunny expression had turned nervous and strained.

"Oh yeah," Sigrun said, pulling one of her daggers from its sheathe and twirling it with deft fingers. "This place is just plain creepy and not only because I can sense darkspawn. There's something else… maybe it's all these trees…" Her face scrunched in consternation and she slowly shook her head, as if she had a thought that quickly fled. The others waited patiently as Sigrun thought; at last, she waved a hand through the air in dismissal. "Bah, I can't place it. _Something_ isn't right—not that the darkspawn ever are—but I can't put my finger on what it is."

Several paces away, Loghain was still perusing his own maps as Anwen and Oghren continued to bicker over theirs, each suggesting a way through the terrain ahead to continue toward the breach. Anwen, citing her tracking skills, suggested a longer and slightly more circuitous route to the breach. The trek would be longer, true, but the landscape easier to navigate; it would require less moving through thick brush and would conserve their energy.

Oghren, without surprise, had suggested that the straightest distance between two points was a straight line. Loghain had not been surprised at Oghren's idea; the dwarf was one to directly confront obstacles in front of him, not seek alternate courses of action just because they were easier. It made him a respectable warrior, if brash and somewhat stubborn.

As they had argued, Loghain had consulted his own map of the Brecilian Forest. Having spent a great deal of time in Gwaren, he and his men had had many opportunities to travel into the forest, seeking better and shorter routes to Denerim other than the Brecilian Passage. A path ran along the Amaranthine Ocean, but that was a long and sometimes dangerous trek depending on the time of year. The path was often washed out in places by storms and tide, and, thus, not the most reliable route to Denerim.

There were hunting trails that dotted the landscape, used by those who either did not believe in, or ignored, the superstitions regarding the haunted folktales of the forest. It was Loghain's experience that most people had held some sort of fear of the forest, whether they admitted it to themselves—or others—or not. It could certainly be a disconcerting place, but no more so than the areas of Gwaren that bordered the Kocari Wilds or any other lightly traveled areas of Ferelden. He loved his country and countrymen—most of them, anyway—but there were times when he felt that many of the people were more superstitious than practical, making them the subjects of pity or ridicule among the other nations of Thedas. Loghain snorted quietly. _Enough foolishness. Back to the task at hand._

At any rate, there were one or two trails that had traversed the forest at one time, but they were likely little more than small paths of dirt and crushed vegetation that only the heartiest and most avid hunters had used. With the rebuilding of Ferelden after the Orlesian occupation, there had been little in the way of funding to improve the trails and make actual roadways of them. Loghain scoffed to himself; it was one more item on the never ending list of things to do for Anora and Alistair.

One of those more heavily used paths, Loghain was sure, passed not too far away from where Anwen and Oghren had indicated the breach was. Since no one who had been on the original expedition had mentioned the path—Nathaniel had only seen the breach from a distance and that from the upper branches of a tree—Loghain was fairly certain they had not discovered it; if they _had_ come across it, Anwen would likely have mentioned it, scorning it because it was "shemlen" made. It would also be interesting, Loghain thought, to see if the horde had made use of that path at any point in their journey toward Denerim. Surely a horde of the size that had besieged the capital would have left telltale signs that would still be visible; if the other expedition had not found them, he would.

Loghain turned to where Lhiannon stood with Anders and Sigrun. She looked troubled as she spoke with them, even more so than she had been in the previous couple of days. He knew her well enough to recognize when something was amiss… and also well enough to know when she was not being entirely frank about it. He had asked her before they had settled into their bedroll the night before if she wanted to discuss whatever it was on her mind. All she had said was that she was preoccupied by their journey to the breach and, while Loghain had no doubt that was part of it, she had adverted his eyes as she had spoken. Clearly, there was more to her melancholy mood than just the breach. As much as Loghain wanted to help her resolve whatever it was that troubled her, he could not force her to share her burdens, no matter how much he wanted to shake her and _make_ her share them.

Loghain took a deep breath and let it out in a low sigh. He hoped Lhiannon would tell him what was _really_ bothering her before too long. He knew a great deal about letting concerns linger inside overlong; after all, he had believed that he was the only one capable of solving Ferelden's problems during the Blight. Looking back, it had turned out for the best, but it could have easily ended with his neck stretched. Once again, Loghain snorted; more pressing matters waited.

"Commander; a moment?"

Lhiannon looked toward him, giving him a nod of acknowledgement as she approached. Her eyes darted from side to side as if looking for predators in their midst; with the itch of the taint in their blood increasing as they traveled east, there might well be. Oghren and Anwen broke off their bickering long enough to watch as Lhiannon stopped before them, no doubt curious.

"What is it?"

Beckoning Anwen and Oghren closer, Loghain turned his map so that they all could see it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anders and Sigrun approach as well. When everyone had gathered around and craned their necks to get a view of the map, Loghain began to speak.

"From Anwen and Oghren's account, the breach should be in this area," he said, indicating a spot on the map that he had marked with a small piece of charcoal. Once they had all acknowledged his action in some way, Loghain moved his finger to a small line that ran north and south not far from the breach itself.

"This is a hunting trail that had been used somewhat regularly while I was Teyrn of Gwaren. Granted, time and the forest could have reclaimed the path, but it did exist at one time in the not-too-distant past. It's very close to the breach according to our maps; I am of the opinion that—since we're here—we should find the trail and scout north a bit to see if it was utilized by the horde as they advanced on Denerim."

Lhiannon turned her attention to Anwen, who was studying the map closely. Her face was pinched in concentration. "Are you familiar with this trail, Anwen?"

"My people have used this trail before, but not in some time. For a shemlen trail, it _does_ go through some fine hunting land. Or, it was fine when last we used it."

_I think she just complimented humans_, Lhiannon thought to herself, which normally would have brought a smile to her face but, in this instance, had not. Loghain's theory was sound; it would make sense to see if the horde had used the trail as they traveled north. They could find it fairly soon if she and Anders used haste spells to quicken their pace. It could also solve the problem of camping for the evening; rather than wasting a part of the day if they had set up camp now, they could reconnoiter the trail for a ways while still remaining in close proximity to the breach. Keeping busy would also help keep her uneasiness from overwhelming her.

Lhiannon looked to each of her Wardens, attempting to judge their opinions or anticipate their objections to the plan. No one—Anwen aside—had a particularly negative expression on their faces. She nodded slightly.

"We will try to find the trail and scout north a bit; Anders and I will cast haste on us to reach it sooner; we'll alternate castings to keep our mana as high as possible in case it's needed at some point. If we find it, we'll make camp along the trail so long as we don't sense a great deal of darkspawn. If they are still massing around the vicinity of the breach as Nathaniel had reported, we'll rethink strategy." She paused a moment, looking to Anders. "Camping tonight won't be easy on anyone. Anders and I both feel that the Veil is very thin here, which means all of us—not just Anders and I—may have to deal with Fade dreams as well as the darkspawn. Sleeping shifts will be short for everyone, but especially for Anders and me. With the Veil so thin, we may find ourselves easy targets for demons."

"I hate the Fade," Anders said, his voice a low mutter. "I hate the Veil; I hate the demons; I hate the dreams; I hate the Black City just hovering in the distance, never getting any closer or farther away."

"Why would the Veil be so thin?" Sigrun asked. "I mean, I know this place is just plain creepy, but I don't understand."

"The tales about the forest claim it is haunted; that the Veil was sundered in Tevinter times and never recovered," Lhiannon said.

Loghain shook his head, harrumphing slightly. "Rumors and fishwives tales," he said, scoffing slightly.

Lhiannon brushed Loghain's comment off with a shrug. "Be that as it may, it's just one explanation for why the Veil is thin here. I'm sure the Blight didn't help matters. " Lhiannon turned east, motioning toward what lay ahead with a jerk of her head. "Let's be off."

* * *

The seething of the taint had increased to a crescendo a split second before the first of the shrieks appeared amongst them as they investigated the small hunting path leading away from the breach. Their long claws and blades whistled through the air as they attacked, their screeches making the Wardens' ears ring painfully. Several of the Wardens' accompanying soldiers were immediately overwhelmed by the creatures, their screams tearing through the trees of the forest as the darkspawn clawed at them in a frenzy of bloodlust. Several other darkspawn emerged from the growth of the forest; hurlocks in a mishmash of armor and weapons who quickly joined their brethren in battle.

Anders was casting healing spells as quickly as he could, his concentration focused on his chanting and making him oblivious to the shriek quietly flanking him. Lhiannon shouted a warning to him as she drew Spellweaver into her hand and sprinted to close the distance between them before he could be overwhelmed himself. She had only taken a half dozen steps before something slammed into her from behind and forced her to the ground, where she landed onto her stomach with a loud thud. Her breath whooshed out of her in a great gust, Spellweaver falling from her hand to settle just out of her reach. The taint roiled and seethed within her as the shriek on her back screeched, its fetid breath burning Lhiannon's nose as she tried to regain her breath. Her burning and seized lungs refused to cooperate, only allowing her a tiny breath as she struggled against the weight on her back. Her armored hand scrabbled in the soil for Spellweaver as the first of the shriek's jabs struck the heavy armor encasing her torso. It had not pierced her armor, but the force of the strike was enough to drive what little breath she had out of her once more in a wheeze. Her lungs began to scream for air, little spots of darkness beginning to dance within her field of vision as she struggled beneath the attacking darkspawn. Forceful jabs landed on her back once more and this time one of the shriek's blades managed to find a gap in the plates of her armor, puncturing the skin of Lhiannon's left side and stopping when it scraped against one of her ribs. White hot and nearly blinding pain shot through her; she suffered in near silence as her lungs continued to refuse her breath and give her any sort of voice.

Rapid thudding sounds drew closer to Lhiannon as she continued to reach for Spellweaver, which remained maddeningly out of her grasp. Turning her head, she caught a glimpse of dark armor covering stubby legs just before the shriek on her back roared in what could only have been anger and pain. A grunt sounded in Lhiannon's ears just before the darkspawn's weight lessened. She turned her body onto its side, feeling a small amount of air begin to fill her lungs as hot blood spilled from the wound in her side.

"That's right, you filthy nughumper," Lhiannon heard Sigrun say, her voice a strained growl through gritted teeth and the visor of her horned helmet. The dwarf tightly held her daggers—which were now buried up to the hilt into the shriek—and began to twist them as she pulled the darkspawn almost completely off Lhiannon. "Two can play that 'sneak and stab' game. Not so much fun when you're the one being stabbed, is it?"

A nearly soundless gasp allowed Lhiannon to take a small breath of air. Reaching forward, she pressed the tips of her fingers into the corrupted flesh of the shriek struggling with Sigrun and whispered a spell of fire. The heat her words conjured flowed within her, moving down her arm and through her fingertips to where she touched the creature's leg. Smoke began to curl upward in stinking trails as the shriek burned from the inside out. The stench of burning and corrupted flesh increased as more smoke began to billow from its mouth. Its screams became impossibly loud for a moment as the corrupted flesh quickly charred, but then were abruptly cut off as the fire reached the creature's throat. After the thrashing and convulsions stopped, Sigrun pulled her warmed daggers from the blackened corpse.

"You okay, Commander?" she asked, helping Lhiannon into a seated position.

Lhiannon gave her a relieved nod and a grimace. "Help me get this armor off; I'm wounded."

Sigrun pulled her gauntlets off, tossing them aside before going to work on the straps holding Lhiannon's upper armor in place. While Sigrun worked, Lhiannon looked around to see the other soldiers and Wardens battling the last of the darkspawn. Anwen had climbed one of the trees and was raining arrows down upon several creatures; Lhiannon noted two still alive with arrows protruding from their flesh, and another three lying motionless on the ground with arrows buried in them. Near the corpses of the darkspawn lay two of their small compliment of soldiers; their body positions and lack of movement told Lhiannon all she needed to know about their unfortunate fate.

Loghain and two soldiers had held equidistant positions around Anders during the battle as he had cast spells of ice to slow and freeze the darkspawn in place. From what Lhiannon could see, several of them had been frozen by magic before being shattered into gory fragments by the blows of heavy weapons. Judging by the specks of blood and gore dotting Oghren's body—and the bright spots of red on his cheeks and almost cheerful bellowing—Lhiannon surmised that it was his great axe that inflicted most of the damage.

After several moments of fussing with the straps, Sigrun parted the front and back halves of Lhiannon's armor; a rush of cool air enveloped her body, causing her to shiver slightly and the injury to send a sharp spike of pain through her. Just having the armor pulled away made her feel as if she could finally breathe deeply again despite the pain of her injury. With gentle fingers, she touched the wound in her side and sent what healing magic she could through it. Lifting her eyes from her work, she watched the remainder of the soldiers and Wardens finish off the last of the darkspawn while Loghain approached her at a swift pace, concern etched on his rugged features as he spotted the fresh blood that had stained the padding under her armor.

"What happened? Are you injured?"

"Not too badly," Lhiannon said, her breath finally coming back to her in full and soothing her aching chest. It was blessedly refreshing, even if the air was tinged with the thickness of blood and corruption. "I was hit from behind by a shriek; it got its blade through my armor and punctured my side. Sigrun helped me."

At the mention of her name, Sigrun stood, kicking the corpse of the shriek beside them for good measure. "Sodding bastard snuck up on her as she was trying to warn Anders." Turning to the side, Sigrun wiped the blades of her daggers along the ferns covering the ground near them.

"It's like this forest has eyes," Lhiannon said, gathering up the pieces of her armor and setting them back in place. Sigrun sheathed her daggers and then began to help her refasten them together. As she worked, Lhiannon shook her head slightly. "I feel like something has been watching us for some time now. Something I just can't place…"

"My people believe the goddess of the forest always watches over us," Anwen's voice called out from nearby as she pulled arrows from the dead and examined them. Likely, Lhiannon thought, she was looking to see what could be salvaged and which were damaged beyond repair. Throwing a hopelessly broken one aside, Anwen huffed angrily. "_I_ do not fear the forest as others do."

A low snort came from Loghain as he extended his hand to Lhiannon, gently pulling her to her feet once her armor was secured in place. She looked into his face and saw a pinched expression there. Clearly, he did not think much of Anwen's curt attitude and obvious jab at Lhiannon's comment about being uneasy. Lhiannon sighed through her nose, knowing that a tit-for-tat, curt comment of her own was likely what Anwen was looking for. Though she had not known the Dalish Warden for long, Lhiannon had quickly learned that Anwen derived satisfaction from what she perceived as the ignorance of the non-Dalish; Anwen appeared to _enjoy_ pointing out such apparent shortcomings, reminding any and all humans that the elves were an ancient people who had forgotten more knowledge than humans would likely ever know. If Anwen continued with such games, Lhiannon knew she would have to put a stop to it, but now was not the time; investigating the breach was more important than playing catty games with a subordinate Warden. Though she was curious as to the tale behind Anwen's comment, Lhiannon decided that now was not the time to ask.

Instead, Lhiannon stood and looked to the sky, seeing only a fraction of the bright ball that was the sun through the heavy canopy of trees. By her best estimation, they had a few hours until dusk. It was probably best to dispose of the dead darkspawn and soldiers while they had daylight as well as set up camp for the night. The breach had waited this long; it could wait for one more night.

Lhiannon swept her eyes over the hunting path once more, sighing at the sight of it. It appeared that the horde had not been concerned with the formality of a path, but rather sought to make their own path north. While many of the larger trees appeared unaffected, many smaller trees had been uprooted and bushes had been flattened by the passage of the horde. Even after all this time, some evidence of the Blight remained, most likely due to the close proximity of the breach and the nearly constant presence of darkspawn in the area. Perhaps, once the breach was investigated and closed, they could follow the path north to have a better understanding of how the horde was able to reach Denerim so quickly and without being discovered until it was nearly too late. They would also need to see how badly the corruption had spread in other parts the forest farther away from the breach, or if it had begun to retreat now that the archdemon and the vast majority of the horde had been eliminated. It would be a good opportunity for more research into the advancement of the Blight; new Wardens would need to be educated as to the Blight's behavior and signs to look for when trying to determine if the danger was increasing. The Wardens from neighboring lands would likely ask about the Blight at some point, since no one alive had witnessed one before. Would they send investigators to Ferelden? Only time would tell.

* * *

The makeshift camp soon bustled with activity as the Wardens and soldiers prepared to bed down for the evening. Sigrun and Anwen walked the perimeter of the small camp while on patrol with the soldiers, ready to warn them if darkspawn drew closer. Loghain and Oghren were charged with gathering the bodies of the dead, pulling them away from the camp so that they could be safely burned. Anders and Lhiannon used fire to burn and ice to cool an area for the camp, making sure any signs of corruption were cleansed. The camp would be small and tightly packed together, but relatively safe.

"Hey, Commander. Yer man is requestin' your presence."

Lhiannon turned from where she was directing a jet of cool air at a spot of land that Anders had burned and cleansed. Oghren stood behind her, jerking a thumb behind him to the area where he and Loghain had been stacking bodies in preparation for cremation. The pile of corpses lay just beyond a small brush line mostly out of view of the camp. The evening sunlight reflected off Loghain's heavy armor in the distance, flashing in bursts as he moved into and out of the weakening rays.

"Are you ready for fire, Oghren?"

"Not exactly. There's somethin' you need to see." Oghren turned to lead Lhiannon to the makeshift pyre, muttering obscenities about the sodding trees and sodding darkspawn. Loghain turned as they approached, beckoning Lhiannon over with a wave of his hand. His face held a troubled expression, which caused the hairs on the back of Lhiannon's neck to stand on end.

"Oghren and I discovered something unusual as we were gathering the dead darkspawn for burning," Loghain said, moving closer to the pile of corpses. He had his sword in hand and used it to tip back the helmet visor of a hurlock. The milky, lifeless eyes staring back at them looked... different.

"This isn't a hurlock," she said, moving to another body and using Spellweaver to flip the visor back on that creature's helmet. It too looked slightly different than the darkspawn. "These are ghouls. Human, by the looks of it."

"Yeah," Oghren said, twisting one of his beard's braids with meaty fingers. "Couldn't have had too much longer to live, sodding bastards."

"Not all of them are shemlen," a low, shaking voice said.

Lhiannon looked up to see that Anwen had joined them, breaking off from her patrol duty to see what the other Wardens had discovered. She crouched down near another darkspawn, pointing to the creature's blotchy skin with a trembling finger. Moving closer, Lhiannon could only, at first, see the dark patches of corruption that covered nearly all of the creature's face. As she looked closer—following Anwen's gestures as her hand hovered just above the tainted face—Lhiannon saw faint lines on the ghoul's skin.

Lhiannon turned to look at Anwen; the elf's face had gone pale and she clenched her jaw tightly. Beyond the tension in her face, there was sadness in her eyes.

"Blood writing," Lhiannon said, looking up to where Loghain and Oghren stood nearby. "Dalish."

"Deygan," Anwen said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I would know these _vallaslin_ anywhere. I watched Keeper Zathrian apply these markings only a year or so before Hadyn and I received ours. He was talented at making hunting weapons; it was part of the reason why Keeper Zathrian sent him into the forest to help the clan when the werewolves…" Anwen closed her eyes for a moment, her silence heavy in the air as the other Wardens waited for her to speak again.

"Deygan went missing a few months ago. He went hunting and never returned. It… it happens among the elvhen from time to time. We searched for him, but never found him. He was beloved by Anduril as well and we thought she had called him to her side…"

Lhiannon felt sympathy for the prickly elf as Anwen continued to mourn over the body of Deygan; the Dalish were, by nature, a close knit people. What bothered her even more was that Deygan had become a ghoul; was it because he simply stumbled upon the taint in the wilderness and contracted the blight sickness? Had he sated some sort of morbid curiosity about the breach and decided to try to explore it despite the warnings of the Wardens and Dalish about approaching it?

A shiver ran through her body as another thought crossed her mind: what if Deygan was _made_ into a ghoul? That suggested to Lhiannon that the possibility existed that his condition was not the result of an accident, but a deliberate act to bring him into the darkspawn fold.

What sort of creature would do that?

She knew the answer to her own question.

* * *

_Duck hawks are another name for peregrine falcons, birds the frequent many parts of North America. They like to nest on the bridge that spans the US/Canadian border near where I live. _

_Heads up, readers: there may be a gap between this chapter and the next one (and I left you with a cliffhanger... how naughty of me!). Baby's due date is three weeks away and while she's currently in no hurry to make her grand entrance, that can change quickly. I hope to continue some writing when I get snippets of time right after she's born, but you know how babies can be. I'll see if I can post short chapters then; it all depends on Baby. If you'd like to PM me, please do! I'd be happy to chat with you and be the proud new mommy!  
_

_Loads of thanks go to reviewers Naomis8329, Wyl, Oleander's One, Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, Arsinoe, Suilven, Ventisquear, Seika, Judy, and Tyanilth. You all have my gratitude for your kind words and encouragement.  
_

_Thank you to everyone following along as well! I'll be back to posting new chapters for my stories as quickly as I can.  
_


	54. Arrivals

**_Thank you to Suilven for her awesome beta goodness! :)  
_**

* * *

Home.

Raelyn looked upon the bulk of Vigil's Keep before her and still could not believe that this fortress was now her home. It had not been long before when she had called Rainesfere home, a place that had been such for a significant part of her life. In a peculiar way, Vigil's Keep felt more like home than Rainesfere had; _strange_, she thought. Perhaps Vigil's Keep felt more like home because it was the one place in Ferelden where she could feel completely safe. The templars had no jurisdiction over her within the ranks of the Grey Wardens. They would not be a constant shadow over her here, and perhaps not in Amaranthine either. They would not follow her about, nor stand guard nearby, nor question her every move as she went about her daily business. Vigil's Keep could be the place to help put the horrors of the recent past behind her.

A small sigh escaped her lips. _If only Anders were here as well…_

Anders occupied Raelyn's thoughts on a constant basis. The team of Wardens and soldiers he was traveling with would be closing in on the breach soon, which meant the danger would be increasing with every step he took closer to it. He had fought darkspawn before, but that did not stop Raelyn from constantly worrying about him or those he traveled with. Would the breach be a swarming mass of darkspawn, their numbers such that the Wardens simply would not survive the onslaught? And what if they found the strange talking darkspawn like those that had been encountered in the arling of Amaranthine? The stories Anders had told her about those creatures made Raelyn's skin crawl. She had hoped that her dreams would give her some insight into what Anders and the others faced but, so far, they had not. Her dreams were simply crawling masses of darkspawn—with the occasional darkspawn dressed in templar armor and holding a bridle in its hand. The darkspawn dreams were disturbing enough, but having mad templars traipse about among them was enough to set Raelyn on edge during her waking hours.

The fortress ahead of them grew larger as her party approached. The sounds of farm animals and the occasional shouts of patrolling soldiers could easily be heard from this distance; before long, she would be back in the compound and giving her debriefing to Nathaniel. After that, a long, luxurious bath was at the top of her list of things to do. The need to be clean was greater than her need for food.

The duty of escorting the recruits back to Amaranthine had bristled Raelyn at first but, as the miles between Denerim and Vigil's Keep had fallen behind them, she had felt a part of her being renewed. The physical and mental pain that she had endured at the hands of the former Arl and his templar allies was still with her, but she had felt the first of the scars beginning to scab over and heal during the journey. Seeing the Fereldan countryside—the rolling hills, the majestic evergreens, the burbling streams, and recovering wildlife—had been a soothing balm.

Of course, having a templar among them—or ex-templar, as Harrith had repeatedly claimed during their journey north—had made Raelyn apprehensive.

Word had apparently reached Harrith's ears regarding Raelyn's recent experience with several of the more zealous members of the Order before they had left Denerim. Raelyn had noticed him looking at her during the first day of their journey with a curious expression on his face. She had not been sure if his look was meant to be sympathetic or pitying; she had been slightly uncomfortable with the former and had completely loathed the latter. The last thing she had needed was to be pitied by anyone, much less a templar; she had encountered pity more than once in her life as a mage, and it had bothered her no less now than it had in the past. While she had been living in Rainesfere, there were those in the community that had looked upon mages with pity, shaking their heads at the so-called misfortune or bad luck of those who had been cursed with magical talents. She, as always, had bristled at the thought; most mages did not want to be pitied. Most simply wanted to be a part of 'normal' society and if they could not have that, wanted to be left alone.

While the travelers had been setting up camp on the road between Denerim and Vigil's Keep, Harrith had approached Raelyn during her preparations to bed down for a few hours before her watch. She had seen him approach from the corner of her eye as she rolled out her bedding near the fire; the sky had been cloudless that night and she had wanted to sleep beneath the stars and enjoy their serenity.

"Grey Warden, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Raelyn had turned to face Harrith, willing herself to keep her expression neutral. Even so, she had felt as if Harrith's dark eyes had been boring into her, seeking to discover her innermost thoughts and fears to use against her. She had swallowed at that moment, trying to dislodge the lump that had grown in her throat and had returned her attention to her bedroll.

"If you must."

Harrith had settled himself on the ground nearby, not so close as to be right next to her, yet not so far away that he had to raise his voice to be heard. He had opened his hands in supplication, the links in his chainmail rattling slightly with the movement.

"I cannot help but think that my presence is offensive to you."

Raelyn had scoffed loudly at the remark, not looking at Harrith but instead continuing to spread her bedroll. "Let's just say that my recent experience with members of your Order hasn't endeared me to any of you."

"I am no longer a member of the Templar Order."

"So you say. You can take the man from the templars, but you can't take the templar from the man."

Harrith had shifted himself closer to Raelyn and had reached out as if to touch her arm. At his movement, Raelyn had recoiled and had brought her hand up as if to defend herself. Dark tendrils of energy had swirled about her fingers, a paralysis spell only waiting for a gentle flick of her fingers to be released. Seeing the reaction, Harrith had pulled back slowly, not wanting to show any sort of aggression toward her.

"Do you know why I was expelled from the Templar Order?"

The dark miasma of the spell had dissolved around Raelyn's fingers even as her wariness remained. "Because you weren't enough of a lyrium-addled zealot for the Order? Because you didn't torture or see enough mages made tranquil?"

"It was my need for lyrium that led me to aid the Mages Collective. That was what led to my downfall and expulsion from the Order. I seek a new purpose with the Grey Wardens."

Raelyn had rolled her eyes. "You seek your new purpose well away from me."

Harrith had sighed slightly, poking at the fire with a small stick that had rested alongside the stones ringing the pit. He had moved as if to speak once more, but Raelyn had held up a hand, seeking an end to the conversation. "It will be your actions that tell the story; words are just that—words."

"Fair enough," Harrith had said, nodding slightly. "I will work to prove myself and show you—and the others—that I am more than what you have heard about me."

Raelyn brought her thoughts back to the present as the sentry atop the recently repaired outer wall called out to the approaching group. She responded in kind, identifying herself and her party as Wardens and recruits. With little delay, the gates of the Vigil were opened and a runner sent ahead to inform the seneschal of their arrival. Once her party had passed through the gates and into the courtyard, Raelyn directed those in her party to their destinations: the recruits were to follow her into the Vigil itself while Sergeant Joanna led the soldiers to the nearby barracks. Raelyn led the recruits up the stairs at the main entrance and through the doors, her destination the main audience chamber. Inside, the circular fire pit in the center of the chamber was lit, bathing the room in its warm glow and adding to the light streaming in from the windows high above.

It was no surprise to her that both Seneschal Varel and Warden Nathaniel Howe awaited them at the back of the hall, standing just before the wide stone steps leading up to the dais where the Warden Commander and Arl's fine chairs stood, empty and waiting for their return to the arling. Varel had foregone his usual chainmail armor for a fine doublet and trousers, his high boots polished to a soft luster. Nathaniel wore his dark Warden leathers with the single griffon on the front. He did not have his great bow with him but, like all those who employed the ways of stealth, had several daggers on his person within easy reach.

"Welcome home, Warden," Nathaniel said, nodding his head once in greeting; Varel's own nod was almost perfectly timed with that of Nathaniel.

Raelyn returned the greetings, motioning to the recruits behind her. "These are the men and women the Warden Commander charged me with bringing here for evaluation." She indicated each one as she introduced them.

"Nesiara Biscal, Gavon Willot, and Kamot Torrin from the Denerim alienage," Raelyn said as the elves stepped forward. Nesiara and Gavon wore simple leather armor and had their weapons at hand; Nesiara's long daggers were strapped low on her waist while Gavon's sword rested in a scabbard on his back. Kamot—a last-minute volunteer who had met up with the Grey Wardens the morning they had set off for Vigil's Keep—wore a simple tunic and trousers and held an ironbark walking stick in one hand, one that he had explained had been handed down in his family for generations. In looking the newest alienage recruit over before leaving Denerim, Raelyn had seen that the walking stick was more than just that; though plain at first glance, it was, in truth, a type of quarterstaff. One end had a metal covering; it not only protected the wood from the weight of the bearer pressing it down onto the ground, but also served to turn the stick into a blunt weapon. The top end of the stick was rounded and wide, a large quartz crystal embedded in the wood. Glyphs had been carved into the ironbark as well, the markings nearly worn smooth by years of elven hands grasping the surface. Though she had not examined the glyphs closely, she had sensed an enchantment just below the ironbark surface. Someone in Kamot's family had likely been a mage; he himself could have some latent magical talent that he might not even be aware of. Such things were not completely uncommon. Raelyn wanted to find out more about Kamot after his Joining—if he survived.

Both Varel and Nathaniel nodded in acknowledgement after giving the alienage elves what appeared to be a quick and silent assessment. Raelyn moved on, introducing four humans that Loghain and Oghren had chosen as recruits from the soldiers stationed at Fort Drakon. The three men—Xanen Duskon of Gwaren, Donovan Talbet of Denerim, and Joryk Tular of Lothering—were tall and burly, still wearing their heavy armor with the Fereldan crest on the breastplate, their swords and shields strapped to harnesses on their backs. The other human—a woman named Eva Nondrak—also wore heavy armor but, in place of a sword and shield, a gleaming crossbow lay across her back and a satchel of bolts rested on one hip while a long dagger adorned the other. There was another nod and quick assessment of each by Varel and Nathaniel before Raelyn moved on to the last potential recruit.

"This is Harrith, formerly Knight-Commander Harrith of the Templar Order," Raelyn said, her voice feeling strained as she spoke.

"Former?" Varel asked, his eyes quickly assessing the thin, pale-skinned templar. "Few leave the Order once they take vows."

Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest. "What's your story? Did you leave the Order by choice or for some other reason?"

"I was expelled for having a mutually beneficial relationship with the Mages' Collective," Harrith said. A sheepish and somewhat sad grin pulled at his lips. "The Order takes a dim view on templars aiding and abetting apostates."

"You were only expelled?" Varel asked, his tone suggesting a degree of disbelief. One of his brows rose in questioning. "If the Order and the Chantry take such a 'dim view' on collaborators, were you not punished more severely?"

"Were you sent to that mages' prison?" Nathaniel asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His brow scrunched in concentration. "What's its name?"

"Aeonar," Raelyn said, scowling as if the word was bitter tasting in her mouth. Nathaniel nodded when he heard the name, not surprised by the sour look on her face at the thought of the mages' prison. No doubt that name had been mentioned to her countless times in the years she had trained within the Circle.

Harrith shook his head at Varel and Nathaniel, a look of sorrow on his face. "No, I was fortunate in that I was not sent to Aeonar, though the specifics of my punishment are between the Order and me. I serve penance every day, knowing that my weakness shamed not only me, but my brethren within the Order and the Chantry as well. It is my hope that the Maker will one day absolve me." Harrith took a deep breath and blew it out, standing tall as if to put his past behind him. "Until that time, I seek to help others and serve the Maker's will by offering my services to the Grey Wardens."

"You will all receive the opportunity to do so," Varel said. "In the meantime, you will be shown to the barracks. I suggest you rest well tonight; tomorrow morning, your training begins in earnest."

* * *

There was a hazy quality to the landscape around her, reminiscent of heavy fog in the minutes before dawn. The world was a kaleidoscope of browns and grays, the color leeched from her surroundings by the murkiness around her. Lhiannon rubbed her gritty eyes, hoping that she could return color and clarity to her world through the act. It did not work.

A low buzzing sound came from the fog, surrounding and penetrating her at the same time. Her blood began to crawl in her veins, the familiar burning itch that signaled the presence of darkspawn. She reached to her side looking for Spellweaver but her hand found nothing where her scabbard would normally be. Her eyes went wide as she looked at her empty hands, seeing herself dressed in moldy, dirty robes. They felt heavy on her, damp and fetid against her skin. Her stomach began to lurch at the sensation.

After a moment's hesitation, she reached over her shoulder, hoping to perhaps find a staff attached to her back instead. She grasped at the empty air behind her, sighing in frustration when she felt nothing there. Bringing her hand back, she cried out at the dark patches that suddenly covered her bare skin, all of them crawling with a maddening itch like insects scuttling across her flesh. Her mouth dropped open as she turned her hands over, looking at the dark corruption that covered her skin. Even as she watched the patches, they seemed to spread and writhe as if they had a life of their own. Whipping her head from side to side, she fell to her knees at a small puddle of water near her feet, fearing what she might see in her reflection but powerless to stop herself from looking. Slowly, she moved over the puddle and gasped as her reflection came into focus.

Her face—as she feared—was covered in dark patches of corruption. Large clumps of her hair were missing, revealing rotten flesh beneath. Her eyes were blood-red and rimmed with dark circles; they stared back at her, widening as the shock of her condition rocked her. Even her teeth felt loose, as if they would fall out with the slightest movement. With a strangled sob, she sat back on her heels and brought her hands up to her face, shaking her head violently as she rocked back and forth.

"No… oh no, Maker, no… not this…"

The crawling itch on her skin suddenly stopped. Lhiannon slowly brought her hands away from her face, a relived cry escaping her lips at the smooth and unblemished skin before her.

"A dream… it's just a dream… it's _not_ real…"

Though the itch and corruption on her skin had faded, the seething of her blood increased rather than waned. The words to a spell of fire came to her lips, her hands beginning to glow scarlet in preparation for what she feared lurked within the fog. She turned cautiously, eyes scanning the murk for approaching enemies. The silence of the fog was nearly deafening, only the occasional small sound reaching her ears. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand.

The distinct sound of footsteps reached Lhiannon's ears through the haze. She turned to her left, cocking her head as she tried to locate the source. They sounded as if they came from nowhere and everywhere, first to her left, and then in front of her. Her breath quickened as she turned and listened, desperate to see what—or who—was approaching.

"It is agreeable to see you again, Grey Warden."

* * *

Sinking into one of the plain, lightly padded chairs in Varel's office, Raelyn let out a long, low sigh. She was one step closer to the luxurious and lengthy bath that she had been pining for since leaving Denerim. The recruits were settling into the barracks and she was about to give Nathaniel and Varel a debriefing; after this last task, she would be free for the remainder of the day.

_Maybe I can catch up on some reading after my bath… or maybe I should just find Ser Pounce and see if he'll curl up in bed with me. I could really use a nap… for about a week._

Raelyn reached into a small satchel at her side and produced a roll of parchment with a wax seal. She handed it to Nathaniel, who sat in a chair next to her with his long legs stretched out ahead of him and his hands clasped together behind his head. He nodded his thanks as he took it and used his boot knife to separate the wax from the parchment. Varel sat in his chair across the desk, patiently waiting for his turn to examine the message. Jowan also joined them, sitting on the ledge of a window overlooking the courtyard outside the Vigil. A small wisp of green light wove between the fingers of his right hand for a moment before he snuffed it out at the sound of the parchment opening.

"It's a letter from the Commander," Raelyn said. "She wanted to give you and Nathaniel a brief update as to the Wardens' itinerary now that the Landsmeet has been concluded."

Nathaniel unrolled the parchment, taking several moments to read what the Commander had written there. "An experimental Circle in Highever? Arl Eamon's exile? Land for the Dalish? I can see why this particular Landsmeet concerned her."

"What did you observe, Warden?" Varel asked, taking the proffered parchment from Nathaniel once he had finished reading it. "I'm anxious to hear a first-hand account."

Raelyn fidgeted slightly in her seat, her discomfort growing as she thought back at on the ordeal she, Teagan, and Sigrun had endured as they had gauged support for the Warden Commander, the Crown, and the Grey Wardens leading up to the Landsmeet. She began to tell her story, determined to keep her voice steady as she recounted the encounter with Eamon and the templars, their capture, and their rescue as they traversed the dark streets of Denerim. Nathaniel and Varel held expressions of concern and disgust on their faces as she recounted her tale. Jowan's expression was guardedly neutral, but Raelyn could sense the roiling emotions behind his seemingly neutral façade. She knew that the former Arl and Jowan had history, so perhaps he was dwelling on his unpleasant memories as well.

After Raelyn finished her tale, Varel opened the parchment and began to read it himself. As he read, Nathaniel turned to address Jowan.

"The Commander has tasked us with evaluating the recruits that Warden Raelyn brought back. I plan on performing the Joinings as soon as possible. I want you to be on hand both during the evaluations and the Joining in case any healing is needed."

"I'm no Anders, but I'll do what I can," Jowan said. He then turned his attention to Raelyn, a frown crossing his features. "I can't say I'm completely comfortable with a former templar joining the Wardens. Most of them are Chant-thumping fanatics looking for any excuse to perform the Rite of Tranquility on us."

"I'm sure he could say the same about a blood mage," Nathaniel said, shaking his head slightly. "Honestly, is there no middle ground between mages and templars?"

"If you were raised a prisoner in a gilded cage surrounded by your mortal enemies, you'd think differently about it," Jowan said.

Nathaniel snorted, a wry grin on his face as he did so. "It actually sounds an awful lot like being raised among the nobility."

Jowan glared indignantly at Nathaniel for a moment before chuckling lightly. "Ah, irony; I'll have to give you that one."

Raelyn and Varel looked at each other, the mage rolling her eyes skyward as the seneschal scoffed lightly. "If you two are done trying to one-up each other on whose life was more like a prison, I'll explain," Raelyn said, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a lock of her hair. "The Commander said that she knew Harrith before the Blight ended. He was involved with the Mages' Collective."

"Ah," Jowan said, nodding thoughtfully. "I've heard of them. I'd thought about seeking them out after I, well, _left_ Kinloch Hold. I didn't though; I knew the templars would be hunting for me and I didn't want to bring any more undue attention to them."

"I can certainly understand why," Raelyn said. "However, there is one more thing I need to mention. The staff that Kamot uses as a walking stick is really a weapon… an enchanted weapon. If you look closely at it, you can see glyphs carved into the wood."

Varel rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward, curious as to Raelyn's observation. "Is he a mage?" Varel asked.

Raelyn shrugged slightly. "He says he's not, and that the staff is a family heirloom that has been passed down for generations. I can sense magic permeating the wood. My guess is that one of his ancestors may have been a mage, though probably not one trained by the Circle."

"A hedge mage?" Nathaniel said, shifting slightly in his chair.

Raelyn nodded. "Definitely possible, given that the staff was never confiscated by the templars; the staff wouldn't have lasted ten minutes in the Alienage—" Raelyn yawned widely, covering her mouth with her hand. She felt the skin on her face flush slightly in embarrassment. "—Oh, excuse me. What I meant to say was the staff wouldn't have lasted ten minutes if the templars had caught wind of it. You know weapons are not allowed in the Alienages, especially enchanted ones."

A glance was shared between Varel and Nathaniel, one of raised eyebrows and small smirks. A low chuckle escaped Nathaniel's lips for a moment before he brought a hand to his chin, his long index finger pressing against his lips. He felt badly about keeping Raelyn from a well-deserved and needed respite.

"One more thing, Raelyn, and then I'll let you go rest," Nathaniel said. "Do you think you and Jowan would be able to determine the extent of Kamot's abilities? I don't want him to be in the middle of training—or, Maker forbid, in a battle with the darkspawn if he survives the Joining—and have his talents suddenly manifest in an unpredictable way."

"And if we find that he is a mage?" Jowan asked, shifting slightly in his seat. Nathaniel thought he looked slightly uncomfortable with the prospect of being a teacher. He would have to get over that. Harrowed or not, mages were in short supply amongst the Wardens until Lhiannon could recruit more from Kinloch Hold, which—according to the letter Raelyn had brought with her—would be next on her list of things to do after the breach was finally sealed.

"Then you and Raelyn will have to determine the extent of his talents," Nathaniel said. "Are his talents such that he can be useful as a mage, or can he barely light a candle? Report to me as soon as you know anything." Nathaniel then stood, the others quickly following suit. "I think we've spoken enough for now. I will make sure the recruits are settled in for the day; they can rest now, because they likely won't get much of it in the coming days. Raelyn, you rest as well; I'll need your help tomorrow."

With a grateful sigh, Raelyn hauled herself up from her chair, bidding farewell to the gentlemen in the room before leaving them behind. The beguiling call of her bath grew louder as she entered the hallway and she felt her pace quicken in response. The dining area would be the last place she would stop before going to her room; if she planned on spending the rest of the day in her quarters, she had best have a supply of food on hand to satisfy her Warden appetite.

* * *

"How?"

Lhiannon glared at the creature before her, hands glowing an angry red with a barely contained spell of fire at this newest violation. She knew attacking the creature in the dream would not damage him, but it would make her feel better all the same. He held his staff in one hand, seemingly relaxed yet ready to attack at a moment's notice.

The Architect waved a long fingered hand in what appeared to be a practiced gesture of nonchalance. "I have chosen this way to communicate with your kind before; it is a less… provocative… gesture than appearing in person."

Lhiannon clenched her fists, her nails digging into the tender flesh of her palms. "What the _fuck_ do you want? And how the fuck did you find me?"

The Architect dropped his hand to his side, his countenance maddeningly casual. "Your blood told me you were near. I sought you out to make one last plea to you. Help me end the blights. Help me free my brethren and unite our peoples."

"So, you're still experimenting with the blood of Grey Wardens?"

The creature's shoulders moved in a slight shrug. "I _must_ continue my work."

"What part of 'no' do you not comprehend?" Lhiannon said, her face twisted into a snarl. "I am _not_ going to stand by and allow you to murder most of the population in your attempt to turn everyone in Thedas into darkspawn. Your days of experimenting on Grey Wardens to accomplish this or free your brethren are finished."

"Not everyone will be turned," the Architect said. "Some must remain free of the taint."

Lhiannon stared at the creature, her mouth dropping open slightly. At first, she wondered how he could keep "some" free of the taint, but then remembered the magic that he had offered to teach First Enchanter Remille years before. The spells would have kept some people—Orlesians—safe from the spreading taint. There would only be one reason why the Architect would want some people untainted.

"No," she said, her voice a growl through gritted teeth. "_No._"

The Architect looked at her with the expression of one trying to reason with a recalcitrant child. "Do you not have enemies? It is my understanding that enemies are often executed for their crimes. Why not let them serve a greater purpose by ensuring that our new people—our _one_ people—continue forth?"

"You are insane," Lhiannon said, her voice rising in indignation. "You would have untainted people—_slaves_—kept for the express purpose of breeding?" The fiery glow surrounding her hands grew in intensity, mirroring her growing outrage at what the Architect proposed. "You would keep breeders and take their women—_children_—to ensure more broodmothers could be created? Would you take these females at their first moonflow? Would you murder the males, or simply taint them at maturity?"

The Architect's long fingers adjusted their grip on his staff; Lhiannon saw the slight movement of his lanky frame that suggested his level of tension was rising along with hers. Mentally, Lhiannon prepared for him; this might be a dream, but she would not let him best her here.

"Then you leave me no choice," the Architect said, his voice low and clipped. "What you will not freely and willingly give, I must now take. The emancipation of my kind demands it."

"_No!" _Lhiannon quickly brought her hands forward, shouting the final words to the fire spell she had held at bay around her hands. A large fireball leapt from her grasp, rushing toward the Architect with a deafening roar. The haze around them reflected the light from the fireball, the fog turning into a writhing firestorm.

With an almost blinding speed, the Architect brought his staff before him in a two-handed grasp to block the spell. Not only did he stop the fireball but, with a forward shove of his staff, pushed it back toward Lhiannon. Her eyes widened as the fireball grew larger, its heat searing her flesh and the light blinding her. Instinct drove her to throw up her hands in front of her face, her mana swirling about in an attempt to protect herself from the onslaught. The fireball slammed into her, driving her backwards as the flame swirled about, consuming her…

She sat up with a start, gasping in the cool air of her tent. The sweat that coated her skin quickly cooled as her blankets and furs fell off her, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. To her side, Loghain slept peacefully, only muttering incoherently as he burrowed himself deeper into the camp bed and away from the chilly air. Lhiannon lay back down and huddled up to Loghain as she sought his warmth and security.

Sleep would be elusive this night.

* * *

_In thinking about the Architect's plans from both "The Calling" and "Awakenings," he was likely very amenable to First Enchanter Remille's desire to keep his countrymen in Orlais safe from the taint (Remille probably thought himself a great negotiator for talking the Architect into it). We know tainted creatures (like Grey Wardens) can't procreate easily and that broodmothers are used to create more darkspawn. In this light, the Architect needs untainted humans/elves/dwarves/kossith to ensure the birth of females. There's no guarantee tainted males and females would be able to procreate; even if they did, there's still a 50/50 chance that the offspring won't be a female. That is, of course, if he hasn't found a way to increase the odds of tainted creatures procreating on their own without the use of broodmothers. That's a nasty thought (in more ways than one).  
_

_The next chapter should see us returning to Orlais to see what kind of trouble Zevran and Leliana are in.  
_

_The bookcover to the story was made by the awesome Seika. I absolutely love it! She has a spectacular gallery of pics over at deviant_art_dot_com under the name LadySeika. Go check it out.  
_

_I hope to keep the updates for the story to once a month now that the baby is here and we have a schedule in place... well, as much of a schedule as can be had with a newborn. She's almost 11 weeks old now and getting bigger every day!  
_

_Huge thanks go to reviewers Oleander's One, Suilven, Wyl, Arsinoe, Shakespira, JackOfBladesX, naomis8329, Gene Dark, and Tyanilth. Your support has meant the world to me!  
_

_Thanks to all of you reading and reviewing! I've missed writing the story and am glad to be back at it.  
_


	55. That Which is Hidden

_**Massive thanks to beta Suilven for her help, encouragement, and friendship. :)**_

* * *

A cold draft permeated the thin walls of the hostel in one of Val Royeaux's poorest slums. The rooms within were small, the blankets on the bed threadbare and likely older than the room's occupant. A dented tin plate rested atop a scratched table next to the bed, the remains of a greasy beef pasty contained within. The legs of the table were slightly uneven, causing the table to rock when any weight rested on it. A small lantern and wall sconce lent only scant light to the room.

The sounds of drunken revelry from below reached Zevran's ears, a low humming sound occasionally punctuated with louder shouts, laughter, or the clanking of metal tankards. The evening's primary gossip centered on the death of a noblewoman, Manon DuPuis, and the implication of another noble, Sylvain Bacquet—the noblewoman's rumored lover—as the murderer from evidence found at the scene. Manon had been found in the gardens of her family's country estate a few days before; her throat had been slashed and she had been clutching a broken golden brooch in her hand, the crest of the Bacquet family embossed into the metal. In the bushes nearby, a guardsman had found a bloody dagger. A craftsman's mark had been embossed in the metal and, when questioned, the man had produced a bill of sale showing that the dagger had been crafted for Sylvain himself for hunting expeditions. Sylvain had been quickly apprehended by the guardsmen after a witness to the crime had come forward, saying he had seen the murder and the dagger being disposed of in the bushes while hunting nearby. Sylvain had loudly protested his innocence until a well-placed punch to the stomach by the guard captain had silenced his protestations.

While the patrons rehashed the story through their tankards of cheap ale, they did not know even half of the truth. While it _was _true that Madame DuPuis had been murdered and had been discovered with the brooch and dagger nearby, Sylvain Bacquet had _not_ been the one to wield the knife; that deed had been carried out by another of Henri's Shadows, who had also acted as the witness after planting one part of the broken brooch in Manon's hand and stashing the dagger nearby. The dagger itself had been lifted from Sylvain on his last successful hunting expedition, when the man and his party had been too deep into their drinks to notice the theft. Zevran's part in the caper had been to plant the other part of the brooch onto Sylvain as he'd responded to the scene. With a carefully maneuvered brush against the rushed and preoccupied nobleman, Zevran had slipped the brooch into his satchel and concluded his part in the scheme. He had then promptly made for the squalid hostel in which he now sat, another urgent piece of business at the top of his mind.

He only marginally listened to the revelry below as his thoughts were preoccupied with his other business. On the table between the plate and the lantern rested a small piece of parchment, a letter written by a familiar hand. At first glance, the letter appeared to be written to a friend, familiar in tone, and talking about the health of other mutual friends and the writer's family. Gossip filled the next part of the letter, written as a tourist telling a friend about the trip.

_Val Royeaux is as beautiful as we have always imagined! Gossip mongering is a favorite pastime here, especially in the taverns. There is a great deal of gossip and storytelling about the Blight in Ferelden, with both relief that the darkspawn never made it here, yet disbelief that a country full of near barbarians and dog lovers managed to quell it in such a short time. The Hero of Ferelden is oft mentioned as well; it's scandalous that a mage was the one to defeat the Blight and take control of an entire section of the country! _

At the mention of 'dog lovers,' Zevran began to read carefully, for the real information was coming after that clue phrase. To anyone else, it would look like a letter from one friend to another; in reality, it was a passing of information.

_The Grand Cathedral is beautiful! There are many men and women there, both working to spread the Maker's word to the faithful and praying for His intervention and blessing. It's very inspiring. I would love to see the Divine herself, but I understand that she hasn't been feeling well lately. Even during the high services, it is one of her senior mothers that leads the congregation. I suppose the Divine will have to remain an enigma for now. There are many of the faithful at the Cathedral as well; some even pray for forgiveness for having born mage children. It is sad, but not unexpected._

_I have met some guardians here as well; they keep the populace safe from those that would corrupt them. It is a thankless job at times, and they have many worries and burdens placed upon them by the Court. _

Zevran felt his brow furrow as he continued to read the letter. The mention of 'scandal' surrounding Lhiannon's appointment and the events of the recent Landsmeet—for word had quickly reached Orlais, as gossip often travels faster than the truth—was not entirely surprising. Val Royeaux, being the heart of the Chantry and the seat of Imperial power, would certainly be very interested in such matters and eager to speculate about events in the south.

Another item in the note indicated that Leliana had not seen the Divine about the cathedral and, while that would not necessarily worry Zevran, Leliana seemed to be concerned. He would keep his ears open while about the capital; perhaps some visits to the taverns near the cathedral would give him some insight. Alcohol and his ridiculously awesome charm could certainly loosen tongues. Zevran grinned at the thought; that had always been the best part of being a Crow.

_Guardians_… Zevran fingered a lock of his long hair as he read that small paragraph again. Was she speaking of the Grey Wardens? She must be; she mentioned _corruption_ as well, a word they often used to describe the darkspawn and their Taint. She also mentioned the Court. Were they giving the Wardens orders? Pressuring them? Something else? At any rate, it was concerning to her; Zevran trusted her instincts. After all, those of their profession learned early on to trust their instincts, no matter how innocuous something seemed. In a way, Zevran wished he knew Arcanum; it would be so much easier to write a full report in the ancient Tevinter language since so few people knew it. Still, it was best to not take chances.

Turning back to the letter, Zevran resumed reading. Not all of the letter had been written in code but, remembering what Dorothea had said about reading it with a strong light, Zevran held it close to the lantern. After a few moments, faint writing began to appear in the spaces between the lines written in darker ink. Leliana's second message was brief, but it was enough to cause concern.

_Discovered by Wardens at cathedral and taken to compound. I'm well, but can't leave without escort. Cover story in place though Commander is becoming suspicious. Can leave only to go to services with escort. Second Warden here; tension between him and Commander. Commander said Wardens were to be used as cover; others say reinforcement. His position threatened. Brother and a third man here, much arguing. Little on Greenwood Vale, locked room; suspicious. The Lady was mentioned; not sure why she's involved. Use our mutual friend; trustworthy._

_All my hopes and love. L._

There was no way Zevran could send this letter to Ferelden, not with the revealed message from Leliana within. He would simply have to rewrite it; thankfully, Leliana had done most of the hard work for him. As he opened the only drawer in the rickety table and withdrew a piece of cheap parchment, a revelation came to mind: he could watch the cathedral, see if there would be an opening where he could speak to her. He needed more details. While she was able to provide some information, there were still many holes that needed filling, and they could only be filled by speaking to her in person. Somehow, he would have to find a way.

* * *

The courtyard was bustling with activity; Grey Wardens training with various swords, daggers, bows, and even bare hands. Jean René stood at the window in his office, hands behind his back as he observed his Wardens train. His eyes fell upon the newest arrival, Laya, as she sparred with another woman, blunted practice daggers in both hands. She moved with a grace and confidence that belied the story that she had told him upon his first meetings with her. Laya was more than a simple Chantry scholar and educator, and he had spent a great deal of time trying to determine just what she was.

"Damn you, Duncan," Jean René swore, turning from the window and taking his chair behind the desk. "You have the answers to my questions, but being dead tends to make asking you difficult."

Jean René reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled forth a half empty bottle of whiskey. He winced as he closed the drawer, the three empty bottles within clinking together as they moved. They were a sign that his drinking was becoming a problem; he knew that his indulgence would eventually catch up with him, but he had no desire to stop now. It was his only outlet from the tremendous pressure he was feeling from Clotaire, Rolande, and now, apparently, the Lady. Darkspawn and archdemons were supposed to be his plight, not power plays and scheming. He pulled the cork from the neck of the bottle and drank deeply, savoring the warmth of the whiskey as it flowed through him.

Scheming, however, was apparently in his blood despite his earlier protestations to Clotaire. Since Laya's discovery in the cathedral, Jean René had made some quiet inquiries as to her arrival and movements. He had spoken with Mother Dorothea during one of her visits to Laya, but the Mother had not told him much. Laya was a recent arrival at the cathedral, Dorothea had insisted, and one who kept mostly to herself and her studies of the Chant of Light and the various scholarly writings about it. Dorian, the junior Warden who had been tasked with escorting Laya to the cathedral for services, had not had much in the way of information either. He had seen Laya greet several mothers and clerics there, but she had never spoken to any for more than a brief moment or two. Jean René tasked Dorian with performing some research in the cathedral's archives, looking to see if Laya's name appeared on any rosters there. If Laya had been Chantry trained and on Chantry business as she had claimed, her name should have been on some sort of record there.

Dorian had not found it.

At first, Jean René had thought that Dorian had not searched hard enough or through all the archives. When he had questioned the junior Warden, Dorian had detailed his search efforts for his Commander; he had even asked one of the curators for help, saying he had been tracking his family history and wanted to be sure he had not missed anyone. Even after all the searches through the records of every chantry in southern Ferelden that she could have passed through as she ministered to the Chasind—large chantries and small, through piles and piles of tedious paperwork from 9:01 Dragon and forward—he had found nothing.

Lifting the bottle to his lips, Jean René took another large mouthful, shuddering slightly as the liquid burned its way through him again. With Dorian's lack of success at finding any sort of records on Laya, Jean René's suspicions of the new Warden had grown. Perhaps he should just ship her off to Ferelden and be done with her. She could be _their_ problem. It would be so much simpler to throw her onto a rack and torture the information out of her, but that would not go over well either with some of his Wardens. Seeing one of their own abused would undermine his authority and cause more problems.

Another thought about Laya crossed his mind. Was she some sort of Chantry agent; a Seeker, perhaps? That did not make sense either. Seekers sought out treachery and corruption within the Chantry and the Templar Order, and were charged with protecting the Chantry from those that threatened them. Did they consider the Grey Wardens a threat somehow? Or, even him, personally? From what he understood, Seekers were generally the most talented and devout members of the Order; so, why would a Seeker wish to become a Grey Warden and trade the Chantry for the darkspawn? Infiltrating the Wardens would have been a dangerous proposition with the Joining; would she have passed that sensitive information to them upon her survival? It did not seem likely that Laya was a Seeker, but it certainly would not hurt to make some discrete inquires to discover if someone within the Chantry was becoming a problem.

Another draw from the bottle and more of that pleasant burn. Speaking of problems, Rolande and Clotaire were quickly becoming troublesome as well. Jean René had been inwardly furious at Warden Commander Rolande's recent chastising, which he had felt had been undeserved. He had tried to warn Rolande at the time that the Fereldans would never accept chevaliers in any way, shape, or form, no matter who they had been with. Rolande had insisted that they would; the Empress had been certain that King Cailan would be open to that—and other—suggestions. She had been reasonably assured that they would plead for the might of Orlais to help them repel the darkspawn invasion. When the new regent had stopped the Wardens and chevaliers at the border, Jean René had not been surprised. He certainly could have taken a more difficult, more rugged way, into Ferelden with his men and the chevaliers, but it would have undoubtedly been mistaken for an invasion, and he had not wanted his Wardens tangled up in _that_ situation. They were supposed to be apolitical. Jean René scoffed as he took another mouthful of whiskey; _apolitical_... neither the Wardens in Weisshaupt, nor Warden Commander Rolande, would know apolitical if it bit them in the arse.

Clotaire was, in contrast, openly mired in politics. His single goal was to make their family—meaning him—the single most important members of, and advisors to, the Imperial Court while upholding the Maker's Will. Jean René's refusal to involve the Wardens in his machinations had obviously stung, but that did not mean he would not try again. In fact, Jean René would not be surprised if he later learned that Clotaire had supported Rolande's threat to have him removed as Warden Commander of the Orlesian Grey Wardens. How had the once close relationship between the brothers become so strained? Had the need for familial power and influence finally consumed Clotaire until all that remained was the scheming politician? He knew that he would soon likely have to choose a side: his brother and his ambitions, or the Grey Wardens.

Jean René tilted the bottle toward his lips, draining the last of the whiskey and sighing. He set the empty bottle onto the table with a resounding thump.

Neither side was palatable.

* * *

"I suppose I should give your brother some credit for adhering to his beliefs, no matter how foolish and misplaced they may be. It is that kind of thinking that will, one day, see him in dire straits."

Clotaire gave Rolande a small grunt, neither agreeing with nor disputing the statement the angry Grey Warden commander had made. He lifted a cup of tea to his lips, using the motion of drinking to give him a moment to pause in his thoughts. He could understand the other man's frustration with Jean René, for he felt a similar frustration. Clotaire was trying to do what the Maker had bade him to do, and Jean René's refusal to cooperate was troublesome. It had been the Maker's small, quiet voice that had prompted Clotaire to do whatever it took to advance his family's position within Orlais; the Maker needed a champion for the people to follow so that, one day, He would return. Clotaire was prepared to be that champion; of course, the earthly rewards that the Maker's Will had promised had been more than enough to guarantee Clotaire's assistance.

With the Maker's Will in mind, Clotaire had ordered the strike against the DuPuis and Bacquet families. With one grand stroke, two prominent Orlesian families had been weakened and the name "Alune" made stronger. The DuPuis' had certainly needed to be brought down a notch; rumors within the nobility said that there was magic in their family line. Normally, such rumors were merely words bandied about in the fancy parlors of noble manors. Clotaire, however, had learned from a source within the DuPuis household that one of the sons, Gascard, was a mage and that the family had been paying a fantastic sum of money for another mage to give him private lessons. The thought of a high noble family like the DuPuis', not only having magic in their bloodline, but also secretly harboring mages was offensive to Clotaire. Those families closest to the Empress should not hide illegal, apostate mages; as for the Bacquets, they were simply pawns in the Game itself and, if they were not clever enough to search for treachery on their own, then they deserved what befell them. Clotaire's eyes fell to the small statue of the Blessed Andraste that stood in a small alcove of his private study before returning to Rolande and meeting his stern gaze.

"He is exasperating at times, but I believe he will come around with continued persistence," Clotaire said after a moment of silence. Taking another sip of tea, he returned the cup and saucer to the table between the two of them. "I will also pray to the Maker for His guidance; perhaps He can enlighten Jean René as well."

Rolande waved a hand in dismissal. He had little need for the Maker or whatever His "work" might be; after seeing the darkspawn for more years than he cared to remember, after hearing the stories about the Golden City turned black, Rolande had little use for a deity that fled from His people and refused to return until everyone in the world worshipped him as one. That was as likely to happen as a second moon appearing in the sky. It was as if the Maker Himself had set the world up for failure.

Bringing the Chant of Light to all was not Rolande's strategy; he was more concerned with Orlesian destiny. He might be the Second Warden, but he was a son of Orlais first. The Nevarrans needed to be kept in check, and that meant expanding Orlesian power and strength... and regaining what had been lost. The Blight could have done a great deal of the work for his compatriots; the Grey Wardens could have assessed the damage and restored what they could, while the chevaliers would have provided "security" to the beleaguered Fereldans recovering and rebuilding from the darkspawn rampage. Besides, it was not as if the Grey Wardens were beyond political aspirations or intrigue; the First Warden himself was so mired in Anderfel politics that it was impossible to see where the politician ended and the Warden began. Then, there was that nasty little bit of business in Ferelden with Sophia Dryden that saw the order banned for the better part of two centuries. Not to be forgotten, of course, were the more recent developments in Ferelden. Anyone who believed that the Grey Wardens were beyond politics were simply deluding themselves.

"Double your efforts," Rolande said, draining the last of his cup of tea. "I shall redouble mine as well." He looked to Clotaire, his face hardening as he studied the noblemen. "That may mean replacing him with a more... _receptive_… Warden Commander."

Clotaire drew in a breath through his nose, releasing it with a slight whistle through his nostrils as he pressed his lips together into a tight line. "I will speak to him privately; perhaps a 'brother-to-brother' talk can sway his mind."

"It hasn't worked to this point, so why should it now? It would be easier to banish him to the Deep Roads to battle darkspawn."

"You will do no such thing," Clotaire said through gritted teeth. "He is still my brother; noble blood still flows through his veins—"

_"Tainted_ noble blood."

"—And _you_ will remember your place. Your family could have a much easier life with a benefactor from House Alune as a friend after you are gone. You _did_ say this could be your last trip home."

Rolande's voice took on an icy tone. "And your brother could have a longer, more comfortable life with _me_ as a friend. Wardens often die in the Deep Roads, rotting in a dark, fetid tomb."

The two men continued to glare at each other for several long moments, neither wanting to be the first one to break. The air around them grew frosty, the silence between them growing more uncomfortable as the moments passed. Remembering that sometimes a battle had to be lost to win the war, Clotaire smiled slightly, albeit it grudgingly. "Let us not threaten each other; after all, our goals and paths are aligned. Besides, the Lady would not be happy to see us arguing like schoolboys in the play yard."

Years of playing the Game in the nobility and court allowed Clotaire to recognize the equally grudging smile that Rolande returned; their arguments concerning Jean René were clearly not over, but merely set aside for the moment. He stood, tugging at his fine tunic to straighten it; Rolande followed suit, understanding the silent cue that their meeting was nearing its end.

"Perhaps you are right," Rolande said, his voice still containing a hint of annoyance. "Speak to your brother and impart your wisdom."

"I shall," Clotaire said with a nod. "For now, I must go to the cathedral to pray for guidance. We shall speak again."

* * *

The cathedral was one of the few places in Val Royeaux where Clotaire could find peace. The singing of the choir, the incense, the ritual… all of these things brought him the calm and serenity he rarely found in his daily routine. The service was, as always, a wondrous experience that left him feeling refreshed. He would be a fool to deny that he also watched those around him, taking mental notes as to which noble families were benign and which needed to be reminded of their true status within the Empire. One of his personal rituals he performed while arriving at services was to observe the reactions of those around him. Those of the lower classes looked upon him with expressions varying from awe to antipathy; they did not concern him. Those of the smaller noble houses would watch him walk by, then lean over to whisper into the ears of those sitting nearby, spreading gossip in the house of the Maker. The Chantry, of course, officially frowned upon such things—especially within the Maker's own sanctuary—but they were just as guilty of gossiping as anyone else. Gossiping, however, was not the only vice in which some indulged themselves.

He lingered after the daily service was complete, gazing at the golden statue of Andraste as he waited for that small voice within him—the Maker's voice—to whisper its guidance to him. Most of those that had attended services had already departed, though a number of people had remained behind for their own personal contemplations. He could remain here for a few more minutes, but not for much longer than that; he had another commitment to attend to before too long.

A number of templars mingled about as well after services; they had been accompanied by—as they often were—tranquil mages seeking the Maker's blessings. Clotaire felt his top lip try to curl upward with revulsion, but he was able to keep the gesture to little more than a minor twitch. He believed that mages were the personification of sin; after all, they were the ones that had breached the Veil and turned the Maker's Golden City black. They consorted with demons and some were—Maker forbid!—little more than potential abominations. Their continued presence was a reminder of man's sin, and it was man's duty to abolish that sin.

Clotaire brought his thoughts back to the nearby templars. Two of them were men he knew well: Mathieu and Fabien. Mathieu was a distant cousin, and one of the men who had encouraged Clotaire to leave the trappings of Court behind him and dedicate his life to the Chantry by becoming a templar. It had been a difficult decision for Clotaire but, in the end, he could not leave the Court, not when his family had finally begun to enjoy the power and prestige that they had worked so hard and long for. He could still study the Chant of Light and chantry doctrine while a member of Court and, perhaps, be a voice for advancing that doctrine amongst them. Fabien—two years Clotaire's senior—was the son of the Alune family's seneschal at their manor along the shore of Lake Celestine. They had had the same tutors and trainers while growing up and had both studied the written laws of the Chantry and the unwritten rules of the Grand Game.

Two other templars were there, flanking a woman dressed in a simple, but finely made, gown of the latest Orlesian design. The woman had been born in Orlais, but had moved to the province of Ferelden when her father had been appointed governor—or _arl_, as the Fereldans called them—of Redcliffe. She and her husband had been driven from Ferelden not long before, and were living with her extended family in Val Royeaux. Clotaire knew that she visited the cathedral often; mostly alone, but occasionally with others. The templars had also recently arrived from Ferelden and were familiar with the woman. They had brought with them disturbing news regarding new freedoms given to the mages that lived there, as well as stories of the tolerance the Fereldan monarchy had for them. Clotaire felt his brow furrow at the thought; it would certainly behoove the other nations of Thedas to take the lessons of Meredith Stennard and Kirkwall and implement them within their own borders. Meredith would _never_ allow the sacrilegious appointment of a mage into such a position of power as the Fereldan monarchy had; Maker willing, that wrong would be set right.

_What were those templars' names again? Ah, yes. The fiery one is Deiniol, the one who witnessed the blasphemous events in Denerim. The other one—the quiet one from western Ferelden—what was his name again? Ah, I remember now._

_Edwin. _

* * *

_Don't remember Edwin? Head back to chapter 13... you'll find a reference to him there. Or, you can check out my one-shot "The Releasing;" he's featured in that as well. Zevran was a little bugger in this chapter too; he just refused to cooperate for the longest time.  
_

_Blargh... I'm trying to keep to some sort of schedule, but the holidays, work, and a rapidly growing four month old have sucked up crazy amounts of time. I had been planning on posting this chapter earlier this week, but real life decided to go crazy for a few days. No worries though... things are getting back to the normal amounts of crazy. ;)  
_

_Thank you to reviewers Wyl, Arsinoe, Suilven, Oleander's One, Seika, Shakespira, and HeeDeeG. Your support is very much appreciated, as is everyone's patience for my gaps in posting. Also, many thanks to those following along as well.  
_


	56. The Depths of Darkness

There had been times in the past when Lhiannon had felt as if she'd stood at the edge of a great precipice: the Landsmeet chamber, preparing to face off against Loghain in front of the Fereldan nobility; the door at the roof of Fort Drakon, hand on the handle as she'd prepared to open it and face her destiny against the archdemon; standing before the Architect, telling the creature that she would not participate in his schemes; the sight of the dagger Elis Burne had held above her heart in the moment before he'd slammed it into her chest.

This precipice was _different_; it was a physical thing, a _real_, tangible thing as opposed to a moment in time.

Although the party of Grey Wardens had been at the breach for several days and had observed the breach a number of times, Lhiannon was still awed by the sight of it. It was smaller than she'd thought it would be, scarcely wider than the Imperial Highway as it neared any of the largest Fereldan cities or Tevinter ruins. In her mind, she'd pictured a large chasm wide enough for the archdemon to fly through with wings unfurled and long neck held high as it bellowed for its minions to follow. In reality, the hole looked as if the archdemon had burrowed its way out from underground, much like the darkspawn had in places like the Korcari Wilds. She had not been surprised to see that there were indeed several holes like that in close proximity to the breach itself, possibly made by more ambitious darkspawn anxious to reach the surface alongside their Old God.

Upon reaching the hole in the earth, Sigrun and Oghren had spent some time debating the location of the breach in relation to the Deep Roads and the known dwarven thaigs. They had both speculated—and Lhiannon found herself seeing their point of view easily—that the Deep Roads must pass fairly close to the surface in this area. Not only that, but that an entrance to the surface must either not be close by or, if there was one, it was still tightly sealed to the point where neither the archdemon nor its minions had, or could, breach it. As they had spoken, Loghain had brought out his maps of the area, marking the location of the breach and scrawling notes in the map's margins in his neat, precise script. An expedition would need to return here, he had said, to search the forest for any Deep Roads entrances lost to time or unknown to their Dalish allies.

Lhiannon stood at the edge of the breach, looking down into the dark depths. They had not ventured inside as of yet, but instead had used the last couple of days to reconnoiter the area and stop the taint from spreading further. When they had first arrived, sickly tendrils of taint not unlike a broodmother's tentacles had slithered out of the opening, surrounded by the blackened mold-like corruption that had covered everything in its path. She and Anders had taken turns using their magic against the corruption, one recovering mana as the other had worked, seeking to conserve their supplies of lyrium for when they were under the surface and would likely have a greater need for it.

They had begun at the breach itself, seeking to stop the corruption from encroaching any further on the surface. Without an organized horde and an archdemon to lead them, the corruption's advance had apparently slowed and responded favorably to fire. Darkspawn had appeared occasionally as they had worked; small, disorganized groups that had been defeated with a minimum of fuss. Their bodies were added to the nearby fires, contributing to the smoke and burning stink of corruption in the air.

As they had moved out from the breach in concentric circles, the ruins of a small settlement had been found on the other side of a gentle rise in the land. The Grey Wardens had gone to investigate, leaving Sigrun at the top of the rise so she could observe both the breach and the settlement. From a distance, the settlement had looked abandoned; the wood and stone buildings darkened with dirt and, more recently, taint. Upon closer inspection, they had discovered that only a handful of small buildings existed: a few simple, one room houses with doors askew and thatch roofs fallen into the structures. A small mercantile with shelves full of dust, the remains of what appeared to be food, and bolts of tattered cloth had been nearby, the outer walls blackened as if burned by fire, but instead coated with taint. There had also been ominous dark patches that could have been soot or dirt… or even dried blood. The settlement had appeared to have been vacant for some time. Lhiannon had watched Loghain's brows furrow deeper and deeper with every building they had investigated; he had been consulting his maps as they'd searched, looking for the name of the settlement that had, for all intents and purposes, been lost much like the ancient Teventer ruins had been.

It was the shell of the settlement's small chantry that had told them that the buildings were no ancient ruin, but most likely the archdemon's very first victims. Under fragments of wood and the twisted metal of a small candelabrum was a copy of the Chant of Light, the pages damp with rain and blackened with soot and taint. Anders had gently thumbed through the pages, finding a small section in the middle that had been relatively undamaged. Amongst the pages were slips of vellum containing records of births, marriages, and deaths, the last entry being noted only a fortnight before the Landsmeet that had seen Ferelden's civil war ended with Lhiannon's victory over then-Teyrn Loghain.

"The archdemon must have been here," Anders had said, running gloved fingers over the dirt and taint that covered the walls. "It's no wonder the Veil feels so thin. All that terror and death..." His voice had drifted off as he closed the book and handed it to Lhiannon for study later.

Oghren had snorted in response. "Sodding overgrown deepstalker. One question."

"What would that be?" Lhiannon had said.

"Where are the bodies? Or body parts?" Oghren's brows had lowered as he'd twisted an end of his braided whiskers in his meaty fingers. "You'd think the darkspawn would have left somethin' behind. An arm. A leg. Somethin'."

"Odd indeed," Loghain had agreed, making a note of the settlement's condition on his map. "I believe this settlement was called Brynbach. If I remember correctly, this was little more than an overgrown hunter's camp. Now, it's gone forever."

Lhiannon's thoughts returned to her as footsteps drew close, the light padding of leather soles followed by the rustle of fabric. She looked up from the hole in the earth and saw Anders beside her, his robes and face smudged with dirt, sweat, and soot. He smelled of smoke and a hint of lyrium, no doubt just a mouthful taken to help his mana regenerate faster.

He motioned over his shoulder with a jerk of his thumb. "The corruption toward the west has been cut off. We had to burn some of the good trees to create a break in the land so that the corruption doesn't spread further. There's a small creek nearby that also helped."

"Good work," Lhiannon said, giving Anders a small smile. "At least with the archdemon dead, we can make some progress in reclaiming the land."

He nodded slightly, his lips pressed together in thought. Lhiannon saw fine lines around her friend's eyes that she had not noticed before, lines that betrayed the weariness he must have been feeling. She imagined that she, too, looked older than she had not long before.

"Do you think Andraste would approve, Lhi?"

Gazing at the tendrils of smoke rising from the west, Lhiannon snorted slightly. "I suppose she might, Andy. Fire could be seen as not only death, but as a harbinger of new life."

"Well, the Chant of Light does talk about Andraste being burned at the stake—which would be death—and then going to the Maker's side—a new life."

Despite her uneasiness, Lhiannon found herself grinning at Anders' words. "Are you seriously giving me an analysis of the Chant of Light?"

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Anders' lips pulled upward in a lopsided grin. "I know; bizarre, isn't it?" His grin faded as he held a hand toward Lhiannon, guiding her away from the nearby breach and toward their small encampment. "Come on; it's your turn to clean up the corruption. Get something to eat before you go."

* * *

It was tedious and saddening work, setting fire to once majestic trees in an effort to cleanse the area. Her mind wandered as she cast her spells and watched the flames take hold. Even though fire was effective in purging the corruption, the land would still be slow to heal. It _would_ heal, in time, given what she had read of previous blights… but there would be many areas left all but uninhabitable for some time. How many landowners would be displaced, their farmland unable to support crops? Would famine soon be upon them? And, what about the animals in the forest; would the corruption continue to infect them, making them unsuitable for hunting, or causing them to remain a danger to the populace? What about the Dalish; would they be forced into smaller areas of the forest or have to leave certain areas entirely? That could cause problems with those in the nobility that saw the Dalish as little more than a nuisance if they encroached on their lands.

Lhiannon exhaled, a small part of her wishing that this burden had not been placed on her shoulders. There was a part of her that was tired of being looked upon as a hero, a leader, someone who could be counted on to face any and all dangers, and to do it with a smile on her face; someone who could clean up the messes that others left behind. She was tired of constantly looking over her shoulder to make sure her enemies were not coming toward her with daggers raised to end her life. At least the darkspawn were simple in their desire to kill her; her humanoid enemies were far more insidious and crafty.

Her thoughts turned to the hole in the earth not far away. Should they just dump debris from the nearby settlement into the hole to plug it, and, if so, how would they do it? The safest way to do it would be to have some of the Grey Wardens fill it until they could ascertain whether or not the corruption was truly destroyed by magical fire; a good idea, if the ranks of the Wardens were like those in other nations. Would it be best to see if the tunnel could be collapsed from within? How would they keep people from unknowingly stumbling upon it and hurting themselves or, worse, contracting the taint and possibly spreading it? Lhiannon could feel herself struggling to find the right answer, her doubts feeding themselves and making her uncertainty worse.

_I don't know what to do anymore._

She yawned, using her hand to stifle her soft, weary sigh as she did so. Her sleep had been fragmented of late, restless and full of nightmares. For most of her early life, her dreams had been simply dreams; only infrequently had she sensed an entity lurking just beyond her perception as she'd traversed the Fade, interested in her specifically. Most of the denizens there were curious about her kind and simply observed what the dreamer's mind would conjure as they slept.

Now, however, the Veil was thin. It felt like demons prowled just outside the edge of her dreams, waiting for the opportunity to approach her and attempt to cross over.

She felt like hunted prey. There was no respite, either awake or asleep.

It had been bad enough that they had found a tainted Dalish elf from Anwen's clan after the recent battle with the darkspawn; having dreamed of the Architect was even worse. The Architect's appearance in her dreams of late compounded the dread she felt from the thinness of the Veil and the corruption around them. Perhaps it was just the closeness of the breach; after all, this was where the archdemon had first appeared on the surface… and the Architect _had_ been the one to taint the Old God and start it on its doomed march to oblivion. She hoped that the dreams were not for another, more distressing reason: that he was close.

Too close.

* * *

From his vantage point just beyond the perimeter of the camp, Loghain watched as magical fire erupted from Lhiannon's hands in jets, targeted to hit the trees most affected by the corruption around them. Her shoulders appeared to sag under the weight of the armor she wore.

He knew that something was still on her mind, even if she had remained reluctant to admit it openly. She had said she was preoccupied while they were with the Dalish, but instead of her mood improving, it had become even more melancholy. He understood that she was likely trying to put forth a brave face as the Warden Commander, but he could see it beginning to take its toll in the fine lines that had appeared around her eyes, in the dark circles beneath them, and the thrashing she did in her sleep. As a Warden, they all had had nightmares and their share of thrashing themselves awake; just the proximity of the breach had increased the frequency of dreams inhabited by darkspawn.

In recent weeks, however, there had been fewer and fewer nights in which she appeared to rest even somewhat comfortably. No doubt the lack of decent rest contributed to her demeanor. What could he do? If she was unwilling to seek out his help—or anyone's help—it would pull her deeper and deeper into darkness, where he would eventually be unable to reach her. The thought drove a cold spike of fear into him. He had nearly lost her once; he would not stand by and watch her become lost again.

It would certainly overstep his bounds—especially since they had argued about the subject more than once—but what if she could not snap out of whatever it was that bothered her? What if her unspoken fears became so debilitating that she was unable to function as the Commander? Would he be prepared to step up as her Second and do what needed to be done? Lhiannon would certainly be angry at Loghain's line of thinking, but he needed to be prepared in case that eventually came to pass.

"I'm worried about her, too."

Loghain looked down and saw Sigrun standing beside him. He had been so lost in thought that he had not heard her approach, and silently admonished himself for it. Being this close to the breach, they all had to keep their wits about them and senses sharp. Darkspawn had attacked before, and likely would again; he could not afford to lower his guard.

Sigrun's gaze was fixed on Lhiannon as she continued her work. "She looks haunted, Loghain. Do you remember what she said after the shriek stabbed her?"

"She said that it felt like the forest had eyes."

"Yeah. It _does_ feel like there are eyes out there; I feel creeped out all the time. Even Anwen is getting as skittish as a fat nug in Dust Town. Says the forest feels malevolent, and that their goddess of the forest is _never_ that way."

Loghain felt his brows furrow. In his experience with elves—most notably the Night Elves—he found that the vast majority of them were more than comfortable in the woods, unafraid of the creatures dwelling within and unlikely to give credence to the stories about hauntings and ghosts that had often been told by young ones looking to scare themselves and each other. To hear that Anwen was becoming skittish was something Loghain took note of. He normally would have considered such feelings to be nonsense, nothing more than superstition and overactive imaginations. Now, however, even he could not deny that something was making them all uneasy.

"Has she said anything to you?" Sigrun asked, tugging on one of her short braids. "I mean, I know it might not be my business, but..."

Loghain held up a hand, shaking his head slightly. "Not in so many words."

"I'll help, if you need me."

Returning his gaze to Lhiannon, Loghain gave a light grunt. He was both grateful and a bit resentful of Sigrun's remark, but knew that her offer was made out of genuine concern. He moved away from Sigrun and toward Lhiannon, watching as her hands glowed red from the spells she conjured.

As he closed the distance between them, Loghain observed patches of red high on her cheeks and several wet trails on her face where sweat had trickled down her skin. A lock of hair had fallen near her eyes, and she blew her breath upward to try and clear her vision. She saw him approach and cut off her spell with a light flick of her wrists.

"I wish there was a better way to do this," Lhiannon said, reaching up to brush the stray lock of hair from her face. "It's going to take forever this way."

"But it's the only real way to target the corrupted areas without burning the unaffected areas as well," Loghain said. "We know of one Dalish clan nearby, and who knows how many hermits have also made this forest home. Leaving the burn uncontrolled could leave significant damage."

A weary sigh blew through Lhiannon's lips again. Loghain scowled slightly; it was a sound he was hearing more and more from her, and he did not care much for it. "So," she said, her voice not only weary, but also exasperated, "what am I supposed to do? Spend the next few months out in the woods burning one tree at a time? The next few years? Forever?"

"Perhaps the mages of Kinloch Hold can be of assistance?"

"After what just happened at the Landsmeet?" Lhiannon said with a snort, her voice taking a venomous tone when she spoke again. "Sure. The Chantry will allow mages out and about, running amok in the Brecilian Forest where they can summon demons at will and plot the takeover of Thedas. Yes, that's a wonderful idea, especially with me leading them. The Chantry will be delighted."

Loghain crossed his arms over his chest, looking down his nose at her. "Lhiannon, sarcasm hardly becomes you."

Lhiannon's eyes flashed with anger. "Don't treat me like a petulant child!"

"Then perhaps you shouldn't strike out like one."

Loghain watched as the anger in her eyes flared once more, and then faded away. She brought her hand up to her temple, massaging it lightly with her fingertips. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment in an effort to will the pain away. "I apologize, Loghain. I'm just... very tired."

"No need," he said, waving a hand through the air as if to brush off her concern. "Lhiannon, I know you're not sleeping well. Perhaps Anders can use a sleep spell on you to help."

"I'd thought about that. However, with the darkspawn close, I worry about it being more difficult to wake up." She paused for a moment, nibbling lightly on her bottom lip. Loghain watched and waited, knowing that she was considering something. After staying silent for a moment, Lhiannon lowered her eyes to the ground. "There is... another reason why I don't want to be put under a sleep spell."

"What is that?"

Her voice dropped to just barely above a whisper. "The Architect. I've... dreamed of him."

The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand. Loghain felt his upper lip begin to curl upward in revulsion. "Are you sure it wasn't a regular dream?"

"It was no dream, Loghain; I'm sure of it. That's why I can't let Anders do it. What if I'm under a spell and can't wake up? What if the Architect somehow finds out?"

The light rasp of metal on metal filled the space between them as Loghain clenched his armored fists. "What does it want?"

Lhiannon shrugged and breathed that weary sigh again. "It said that what I won't freely give, it must now take by force."

A cold prickle of fear raced through Loghain's mind, quickly followed by the heat of anger. An end must be brought to this creature, and quickly, before it could create even more chaos than it already had. It could not be allowed to live and continue its experiments, to continue searching for a sleeping Old God and awaken it. It had to stop stalking them all. No; if there was a way to stop this creature, it had to happen now.

"Do you believe the creature is near?"

A violent shiver ran through Lhiannon, causing the plates of her armor to rub together in a rasp heard over the crackle of the nearby flames. "I can't be sure." She paused, pursing her lips together tightly for a moment before speaking. "I fear he is."

Loghain shook a gauntlet off; he reached out and gently brushed her troublesome stray lock of hair behind her ear, hoping that the gesture would, for a moment, give her solace. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as she accepted his fingers brushing her skin. "It won't succeed," he said, his voice firm and confident, "you have my word."

* * *

The Grey Wardens stood at the hole in the earth, all of them staring into the dark abyss. The opening led downward at a sloping angle; it was a bit steep, but was still navigable on foot. It made sense to them all; if the archdemon had burrowed straight up from the Deep Roads, the darkspawn would have been unable to follow; they would have had to find an alternate route to the surface. From the hole came a fetid odor of rotting meat and sour earth that filled their nostrils and caused more than one of them to cover their faces with gloved or armored hands.

"Creators defend us," Anwen said, her voice a low murmur. The markings on her face stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin.

Crouching down near the edge of the hole, Oghren leaned over and breathed in deeply. He coughed slightly, dragging his forearm across the bottom of his nose. "Smells worse than Tapsters after a losing Proving team drowns their sorrows in lichen ale all night."

"I have absolutely no idea how we're going to close this," Lhiannon said, delicately scratching her head as she peered into the hole. She closed her eyes briefly, not knowing where to begin and feeling incompetent for not having all of the answers.

"Too bad that walking statue wasn't here with us," Oghren said as he stood up straight once more. He pulled the great axe from the harness on his back, twisting it slightly in his hands. "Could've had it haul trees and rocks over to chuck into the hole."

Lhiannon scoffed. "Shale would be utterly offended to be used like a pack mule. After all, her last owner found out what happens when she's been offended one time too many."

"When Maric was on his junket with the Orlesian Grey Wardens," Loghain began, "they used magic to collapse an entrance to the Deep Roads not far from Kinloch Hold. Perhaps we can do the same."

Pursing her lips together, Sigrun nodded slightly. "I suppose it depends on what we find down there. If the corridor—or whatever we find at the bottom of this hole—is in poor shape, we might be able to collapse it as we leave."

"Wouldn't want to be in the hole when that happens," Oghren added. "If the Deep Roads and surrounding stone were weak enough for the archdemon and its cronies to escape, it could bury us, too. Would make for a bad day."

"And I've had enough of 'bad days' to last a lifetime," Anders said. He looked down into the hole, an expression of disgust on his face. He gave a gentle flick of his wrist and, with a murmured word, conjured a small wisp. The being bobbed up and down, its pale green light reflected on the skin of his hand. He waved it forward, where it descended into the dark depths, casting its luminescence onto the sides of the tunnel. The wisp grew smaller and smaller as it moved away, the glow on the walls receding and growing smaller. After several moments, the light stopped, apparently reaching the foot of the shaft.

"Looks like it reached the bottom," Anders said, craning his neck to get a better view over the edge. "Doesn't look as deep as I thought it might be."

"Didn't think it would be too deep down," Oghren said in agreement. "If the Deep Roads are this close to the surface, it makes me wonder what's down below even that."

"I'm just glad we don't have to use ropes to lower ourselves down," Sigrun said, shivering slightly as she squinted to peer into the darkness. "Dwarves might be part of the stone, but that doesn't mean we all like climbing around on it."

"I don't feel any real concentrations of darkspawn nearby," Lhiannon said. Her eyes were closed tight, trying to shut out one sense while focusing on the tainted sense within her. "It feels more like… an echo. Residual. But there's… something else… something I can't place."

Loghain's lips were pressed together as he concentrated on the area around them. "I concur. We shouldn't lower our guard, however."

In the depths, Anders' wisp bobbed about rapidly, as if urging the others to join it so it would not be alone in the dark. With a resigned shrug, Anders stood tall and straightened his robes before reaching for his staff. "Darkspawn residue. Paper-thin Veil. Darkness, danger, and dirt… what more could we ask for?"

A feeling of profound dread filled Lhiannon as she stared into the earth. She was afraid, more afraid than she had been in a long time. Even when she'd stood at the door to the roof of Fort Drakon, she had known what was on the other side, had known what awaited her there.

Here, she did not know what to expect; feared what they might find below the surface. Something tickled at the back of her mind, icy fingers clawing their way inside her. Maybe they should just turn back, maybe come back another time, and in greater numbers, once they were sure the corruption was not spreading any further…

She blinked rapidly, seeking to chase away the niggling doubts about both herself and what her people might find in the Deep Roads. They _had_ to do this, despite her misgivings. It was their duty, even if she felt as if she stood at a point of no return.

They were all competent Wardens, ready to do their duty for the protection of all despite the fear and danger. There was no question as to what they should do; they needed to investigate what lay below them, and then seal off the opening so that neither darkspawn could use it to come to the surface, nor curious explorers stumble into the caverns below to find their doom.

Pulling Spellweaver from the scabbard at her side, Lhiannon squared her shoulders and looked at each Warden in turn. Those that had not produced their weapons before did so now, readying themselves for what waited in the darkness below. They looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to make the first move. She sighed inwardly, hoping that she could do this; that she could be the leader that they expected her to be.

She stepped onto the turned earth at the end of the tunnel, her first step into the blackness beyond.

"Let's go."

* * *

_First off, huge thanks to beta Suilven for wagging her big beta stick at this chapter. Your help makes this story so much better, and you've been a great cheerleader, supporter, and friend. Thank you so much!  
_

_Speaking of thanks, a big thank you to all of you for your continued support of this story, especially with my horrible gaps in posting of late (mainly revolving around work and a very active infant who's almost six months old now). For those of you following "Revelations" and "What Had to Be," I'm working on new chapters for those as well. Rest assured, I haven't forgotten them... but the muse is really poking me to work on this story. So, who am I to ignore the muse when she's being cooperative? ;) Oh, and Happy 2nd Birthday, Retribution! Chapter one was posted on 2/27/11. Yeah, it's a shameless plug. _

_Special thanks to my reviewers for their support: HeeDeeG, Suilven, Oleander's One, Shakespira, Arsinoe, JackOfBladesX, Wyl (and Misery... *poke*), Seika, and Skidney._

_For the village, Brynbach, I used two Welsh words: bryn, which means "hill", and bach, meaning "little" or "wee."  
_


	57. The Unknown Dark

The sun was bright, warm, and held all of the promise and hope of an early spring day. Rays of light filtered through the trees and motes of dust danced on the gentle currents. What clouds dared to show themselves moved gently across the broad expanse of sky, wispy and light, unable to hold back the brilliance of the day.

Lhiannon sighed, looking forlornly at the entrance of the breach that angled up and away from them, the cavern around them the antithesis of that picture of springtime wonder. Her demeanor echoed the gloom around them. On a day like this—any day, really—she would rather be anywhere but here. Even court was a better option than this.

The descent into the opening had not been as steep, or as arduous, as she had thought it would be. For the sake of safety, they had tied a rope to a nearby tree at the surface, thinking that they would need to use it to help guide their steps into the dark unknown. In reality, the descent had been fairly smooth, as the ground had been packed firm by the great number of darkspawn that had used the sloped tunnel in their charge to the surface. What had also surprised the small group was the lack of taint that covered the ground beneath them, similar to how a well-worn path grows no grass. It was a testament to the size of the archdemon's great horde as it had emerged.

It was a narrow corridor that they found themselves in, not nearly as wide as some of the Deep Roads corridors she had traversed in the past. It must have been a tight fit for the archdemon as it had moved toward the surface. She knew that, eventually, this corridor would lead them into the Deep Roads. Of course, they could not be certain as to how far away they were; the Deep Roads could be right around the corner, or miles away. There was no way to know how, or why, the archdemon had chosen this place to emerge; any sort of reasoning would be speculation.

Turning away from the hole above them, Lhiannon watched as Loghain and Oghren pulled two small lanterns from their packs and lit them, their glow only marginally pushing back the gloom. They had decided to limit the mages' use of wisps; while a wisp did not consume much in the way of mana, it would be best for the mages to have as much mana available as possible. They were unsure as to what they would discover under the earth, and it was better to be safe than sorry. Loghain, of course, remembered what had happened years before, when an open torch had set fire to massive webs of giant spiders. He had no desire to repeat the experience of choking on black soot, half carrying, half dragging Maric, Rowan, and that conniving spy Katriel into the relative safety of a dilapidated forum in Ortan Thaig. Lanterns would ensure that such a thing would be less likely... as long as the spiders were not present, that was.

"Elvhen do not belong in such a place," Anwen said as her fingers nervously caressed the delicate carvings on her bow. A part of her cursed Lanaya for invoking Dalish honor, wrapping it in the memory of her lost twin and the honor of the clan. She would have been perfectly content letting the shemlen—and even the durgen'len—prowl about underground while she remained with the clan, despite what the Keeper had said. The thought of defying the Keeper had crossed her mind, and she had been thinking of a plan to do so… until they had found the tainted and twisted Deygan. Seeing how he was part of the darkspawn attack on their small party had opened Anwen's eyes to the horrors of the darkspawn. Not all of them were mindless creatures that erupted from the earth; some of them had been their own kin. Would that have been the eventual fate of all the Dalish had the Blight not been defeated? Would that have been their fate if some of them had been infected and had brought the taint back to the clan?

Understanding dawned on Anwen as she stood in the darkness of the breach, her skin crawling with both dread and the itch of the taint around them. If she and Hadyn had not been given the Joining, they would have doomed the entire clan. The taint would have destroyed the clan from within, their ways disappearing as the madness of corruption had claimed them.

"Mythal protect us."

"I'll be happy if she does," Anders said. He, too, looked up at the opening above them with an expression of nervousness on his face. "This is definitely the part of the job that I don't like; that, and the whole 'slow death by Taint' thing."

Oghren scoffed loudly, twirling his axe in his hands. He likely would not admit it aloud, but being back amongst the stone was exhilarating. The feel of the stone overhead was like a comfortable blanket, a cozy shelter opposed to the open sky. This is where he could put his considerable skills to best use and show the sodding cloudheads how a dwarven warrior _really_ fought; this was _his_ element. The feeling of being back within the stone was almost as good as finely aged lichen ale. Almost. "Put on yer big boy pants, Sparklefingers. Take your tiny balls off the mantle and stick 'em in your frilly smalls."

"Ah, come on, Oghren," Sigrun said, her voice an excited chirp in the darkness. "You can't blame him for being twitchy. Humans aren't of the stone; you were probably ready to fill your smalls when you first arrived on the surface and saw that big ol' sky above you, waiting to suck you up into it."

Oghren snorted. "I didn't fill my smalls, duster; wasn't even close."

"C'mon, all; let's get to making this trip nothing more than a bad memory," Lhiannon said, settling the wide leather strap of her pack onto her shoulder. "We need to reconnoiter and map these tunnels, and make sure any darkspawn are dealt with. Permanently."

Loghain motioned toward the entrance above them, a piece of parchment in his hand that Lhiannon recognized as a map of the area around the breach. "We should start by marking paces from this point, going back and forth until we find a new landmark and begin the process again." He paused for a moment, looking at both Sigrun and Oghren in turn. "It goes without saying that we will be depending on you to look for dwarven runes or sigils on the walls, or signposts that might point out directions."

"You got it, big fella," Sigrun said. Oghren, for his part, gave a huffing grunt as a reply.

* * *

It was slow business, moving in measured paces back and forth in the area where the tunnel branched up toward the surface. Twenty-five paces in one direction, back to the starting point, then twenty-five paces in the other direction. On the third circuit, they had discovered one end of the corridor, the tunnel apparently stopped by a large rock deposit; granite, the dwarves had both agreed. They had also discovered a small gap in the wall about ten paces back from the end of the corridor. It was small, perhaps large enough for a small person to wiggle through, but certainly not large enough for any of those dressed in armor to squeeze through. Not even Anders with his thin build and mage robes could venture more than a few feet within the gap before the possibility of getting lodged inside became very real. After several moments of discussion, Lhiannon had decided to use a small amount of mana and had summoned a small wisp to investigate the tunnel. It had hardly been worth it, as the wisp had only traveled several feet into the gap before it had veered sharply to the right. It appeared to narrow further as the opening turned.

"Well, so much for seeing where that went," Lhiannon said, nodding her quiet thanks to the wisp before waving her hand to dismiss the small entity. The Wardens turned around, moving back down the corridor in the direction they had come from. They soon passed the opening to the surface once again; Lhiannon refused to look at it this time, not wanting to dampen her already poor mood by looking up toward the sky.

Loghain called for a stop at the one hundred and fifty pace mark, pausing to mark his map. They had found no further landmarks to this point, which meant Loghain would just note the distance from the opening before moving on.

"There's no point in backtracking in the other direction," Loghain said as he completed marking his map. "Let's keep moving forward—"

His words ended abruptly as a low rumble began to fill the chamber from behind them. The Wardens turned back toward the entrance, the rattle of armor drowned out by the growing sound from behind them. They could see some sort of movement through the dim rays of light that shone down from the surface. The rumble quickly became a roar, and the ground began to vibrate around them.

"Cave in!" Sigrun's voice was only just louder than the roaring around them. "_Run_!"

They ran.

* * *

"_Shit!_"

Lhiannon coughed, the dust in the air irritating her nose and throat as the Wardens carefully moved down the corridor back toward where the tunnel to the surface lay.

Or _had_ lain. Oghren and Sigrun had taken point as they moved back toward familiar ground, finally calling a halt when they spotted the rubble of rock and earth blocking the path ahead of them.

"Nice to see that I haven't lost my stone sense," Oghren muttered before turning back to the humans and elf behind him and Sigrun.

Anders scratched at his chin, the light rasp of stubble on his skin barely perceptible in the too quiet gloom. "What do you mean by that? How does that help us?"

"It doesn't. It means it isn't safe to go forward and lose your ass in another cave in."

"It also means that we can't get back to the surface that way," Sigrun added.

"Can't we clear the rubble and find the opening again?" Anwen asked, her delicate features twisted with concern. "With all of us working—and the mages' magic—we should be able to clear this rubble and find the entrance again."

Oghren and Sigrun shook their heads simultaneously. "If there's been one cave in, there could be more," Oghren explained with a jerk of his thumb toward the debris. "Sodding darkspawn were concerned about getting the fuck out of here, not about shoring up the tunnel."

"Oghren's right; this tunnel probably isn't completely safe," Sigrun said with a wave of her hand, indicating the walls around them. "We don't know if that cave in weakened other parts of the tunnel, or if it was just a one-time fluke. Sorry, Anwen; we're not getting out that way."

Loghain pressed his lips together into a thin line, his right hand clutching the pommel of his sword so tightly that the muscles ached. The thought of traversing the Deep Roads and searching for the surface—again—certainly did not sit well. Memories of near-suffocation, darkness, chill, darkspawn—and who could forget the giant spiders?—invaded his thoughts and made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. He began to calculate how long they could go beneath the surface before supplies of food, water, lyrium, and healing reagents ran out. With rationing—and a great deal of luck—they might be able to stretch their supplies to last a week or so... if said luck was with them or the Maker smiled upon them.

Loghain did not hold out much hope for either one. 'If' was such a small word, with such large implications, and luck was fickle, at best. With their way out cut off, there was no telling how long they would have to travel before finding another route to the surface. At least, for this journey through the Deep Roads, they had dwarves with them, and not a bard who knew just enough, yet too much, about the path before them. With luck, the dwarves could read the ancient signposts and guide them home, or at least guide them to the surface somewhere or perhaps another Legion of the Dead outpost.

Loghain snorted softly to himself; he was, apparently, placing a great deal of trust in luck.

At his snort, Lhiannon turned to look at him. Even in the low light of the lanterns, Loghain could see the trepidation and concern on her face. Her skin had paled considerably, making her appear even more fragile than he had seen her in some time. At that moment, he wanted to do nothing more than assure her that things would be fine… but he did not know if they _would_ be fine. He was rarely a coddling type of man and the brutal, honest truth of the situation was that there were no guarantees that they would find a way out. The cold truth was that this could be their tomb.

Taking a slow breath in through his nose, he buried his own trepidation, hoping that an air of calm determination would bolster her confidence and belief that they would complete their duty here and then quickly find their way to the surface. He _had_ faced this situation before, had faced the fear that the unknown darkness of the Deep Roads could instill, and lived to tell about it. He had safely seen those that he cared for out of this situation in the past—even Katriel—to the surface, though there had been numerous times when Loghain had wished that the poison coursing through her veins had done its work faster. There were numerous unknowns, but they had conquered the unknown before.

"There's no sense in staying here then," Lhiannon said, pulling her gaze away from Loghain and looking to the others around them. "Since our path is now a one way avenue, we might as well start walking. We won't find our way out by standing here."

* * *

Without the sun to guide them, it was difficult for the Grey Wardens to judge just how long they had been walking in the dark unknown with only the meager light of the lanterns illuminating the way. To Lhiannon, it felt as if her flesh had a mind of its own, alternately feeling as if it wanted to rip from her bones and crawl away, or feeling as if it was smoldering ash. The air around them was still, stale, and stunk of darkspawn. After what seemed like hours spent in the darkness, Lhiannon could still smell the odor of decay and corruption; her nose would never get used to that smell.

Not only was it the smell of darkspawn, but it was the smell of Lhiannon's despair. She was finding it difficult to keep herself from dwelling on the worst of the situation. The shadows writhed menacingly, playing on her fear that these tunnels would be their tomb; that they would die alone under the earth, with no one knowing what had happened to them. It was becoming harder and harder to keep a positive outlook for the others, and harder to care about doing so.

"Hey, I think there's something ahead!"

Lhiannon thoughts returned from their brooding, focusing on Sigrun as she jogged through the darkness, her lantern bouncing about and causing the shadows in its wake to dance wildly on the walls.

"What is it?" Lhiannon called out, her steps coming faster as she sought to catch up. The footfalls of the other Wardens also picked up with the jangle of armor and rustle of robes. Sigrun stopped ahead, her arms held wide. The lantern slowed its bouncing, and Lhiannon saw that the light no longer fell onto walls, but spread out from where the dwarf stood.

"An intersection," Sigrun said, her voice containing a hint of excitement. "There's definitely something here."

The others caught up to Sigrun, holding lanterns high as they sought to determine what was around them. Lhiannon sensed openness, something larger than the tunnel they had been walking through. From behind her, she heard a whispered word from Anders, and the gloom was suddenly pushed back. She turned and saw him holding his staff high, the gemstone held within the top glowing brightly.

They had emerged into a wide tunnel, the walls sculpted smooth where there was rock, and what looked like bricks in other areas. The tunnel branched out to either side, the paths reaching into the darkness to disappear within. Ahead of them was another tunnel, this one framed by a large archway, the architecture a type they had not seen before. Black tendrils of taint covered the surfaces, but where the taint had not completely covered the arch, dwarven symbols could be seen etched into the stone.

"Well, I'll be a nug's uncle," Oghren said, looking about them. He moved toward the arch, muttering as he drew closer. When he stopped, he studied several symbols for a few moments before he pulled a small knife from his boot, using one of the edges to gingerly scrape away the taint covering the surface. After some delicate scraping, several symbols revealed themselves. The Wardens moved closer, peering over Oghren to see the symbols he had uncovered. After a moment while he twisted his beard in his fingers, he pointed to the glyphs.

"Now, I ain't completely certain, but I think this symbol here is _hermaður_…" Oghren moved his finger, tracing the next symbol to the right with a reverence he rarely showed. "… And I think this symbol is _hamar_. It means "soldier's hammer." I think that's the name of this settlement. Can't be certain; no one's spoken the old tongue in generations."

From behind her, Lhiannon heard Anders whistle softly. "Who knew Oghren was a scholar?"

Oghren snorted loudly. "Just because I've been a drunken sot for the better part of four years doesn't mean I'm uneducated."

"So, if this arch was created when the dwarves spoke the old language, this has to be ancient," Lhiannon said, peering beyond the arch into the darkness of the settlement beyond.

"Look here," Sigrun said, picking up what appeared to be half of a broken signpost. There were symbols on it as well, ones that Loghain saw as familiar. "This one says 'salt pool'," she said, with a large grin on her face. "I know that one; it means Gwaren."

Oghren turned to look at Sigrun, one bushy brow raised in questioning. Sigrun winked. "I learned some of these symbols reading old maps." She looked up at the arch, studying it for a moment. "I've never seen a doorway like this before."

"The sign is broken," Anwen said, pointing toward the piece Sigrun held and the remaining post nearby. "It's useless."

"Not necessarily," Sigrun countered, taking the piece she held and matching it up to the broken post. It did not fit together exactly—likely due to age, taint, and any sort of abuse it had taken by the darkspawn—but the broken end of the sign could be matched to the post. "So, from looking at this arch, we can go right toward Gwaren, and…" She brushed off the sign, her brows wrinkling at the symbols. "… I'm not sure what all of these symbols are—one of them is definitely the old word "_eldur,"_ which means 'fire.' At any rate, we know which way leads toward Gwaren."

Peering around Sigrun's arm, Oghren looked at the other symbols that Sigrun had indicated. His brows furrowed as he studied the other runes. "I think these symbols together make up the word _fjall_."

"What does that word mean?" Loghain asked. He was inwardly pleased that they had, at least, found a path that led toward Gwaren. Looking at the symbols on the arch, he reached into his pack and produced a small piece of parchment and a stick of charcoal. A rubbing of the symbol would help them all memorize it. He could also use this arch as a new starting point for mapping the road.

"Mountain," Oghren said. "The symbols all mean 'fire mountain'. No sodding clue what that could be though."

"I wonder if it refers to Dragon's Peak? History says that the mountain once breathed fire," Anders said.

Loghain's lips pursed in thought once more. Was there an entrance to the Deep Roads right under Denerim's nose? And why had the archdemon and darkspawn not used it? Was there still fire within the mountain as the legends had claimed, and had that legendary fire kept the horde away? Or, was it simply a matter of the path being blocked? He moved toward Sigrun and copied the runes onto his parchment, writing the name of the capital beneath it. He would need to speak to Anora about this; an expedition should be sent from Fort Drakon to search. If there was an entrance to the Deep Roads there, they would need to find it and make sure it was secure. A thorough search of the fort was also to be considered; the ancient Tevinters had been a clever lot, and it was certainly possible that they had concealed an entrance within the structure for reasons of their own, trade with the dwarves notwithstanding. Was it likely? Loghain thought not, since no mention had been made of any concealed rooms or doorways in the past, but it was best to be safe rather than sorry.

For her part, Lhiannon felt the first small seeds of hope bloom within her. Could this path lead them to either Denerim or Gwaren? Gwaren was likely the best choice, since Loghain had once made the journey there through the Deep Roads once before, while the road to Denerim was unknown. Whatever they decided, they needed to finish their investigations and move for the surface as soon as possible. Already, the crawling itch of the taint threatened to further fray her unsteady nerves. Her thoughts felt as if they were coming across a great distance, no doubt owing to the taint around them. With every passing hour, her blood and thoughts seemed more sluggish, and the sense of _wrongness_ grew. As she forced her mind to think, her armored fingers absentmindedly scratched at her opposite forearm, the small sounds of metal on metal drawing Loghain's attention from where he had nearly finished his charcoal rubbing of the symbol for Gwaren. She caught his gaze and stopped her mindless scratching.

"Let's see what's inside this settlement," Lhiannon said, moving toward the darkness beyond the arch. "We'll camp here for a bit if it's safe."

* * *

_A dim orange light filled the air around him as he continued his methodical search. Even as he moved from ruined building to ruined building, his path seemed familiar. Within the shadows just inside the arch stood a number of buildings in various states of decay: a tavern, its floor littered with shards of broken tankards and pottery; a small marketplace, the goods offered there little more than dust on the rocky ground; several row houses, their roofs and walls fallen in to crush whatever had dwelled inside; a small mercantile, the goods on the shelves long since rotted away._

_From everywhere and nowhere, dark soot suddenly overtook him, swirling about in a miasmic cloud. It pressed close to him, scouring his exposed skin and invading his lungs. Every suffocating breath felt like bits of broken glass inside, the pain of breathing excruciating. He dropped to his knees, one hand up to his face as he sputtered and coughed, the other pressed to the ground to keep him upright, every breath drawing more of the smothering soot into his body. A shudder wracked him as the vomiting began, drawing his stomach into a tight ball before each one. At first, what came forth to splash onto the ground at his feet was soot, but after several retches, it had turned to taint and he began to pant uncontrollably. His lungs quickly filled with the swirling soot, each breath smaller than the last, until his lungs could draw no more. The ground came to meet him as his lungs stilled, the soot covering him in a fine layer…_

_A bright flash, and then the soot was gone. He could breathe again, the stale air of the derelict settlement sweet to his starved lungs. He rose to his feet, bent over with hands on his knees as he tried to steady his breath. It was not cool metal his hands rested on, but supple leather. His vambraces and gauntlets had metal studs on them, their pattern familiar._

_As he gathered his breath, a trickle of water appeared, flowing toward his feet from an overturned urn nearby. It splashed up against his dark boots as it cut a channel into the rock beneath them. He stepped back and watched the water flow from the urn, the channel widening into a small stream after several moments. A thought came to mind as he watched the flow, his brows furrowing slightly; he could swear that the urn had not been there before, but it, too, felt familiar all the same._

I know that urn. I've been here before.

_Loghain crouched at the edge of the small stream, dipping his hands into the cool water and bringing an amount up to his face. He took a deep drink, reaching into the stream once more and scrubbing his face with the second handful. It was blessedly refreshing._

"_Why did you let me waste away? Why did you let me die?"_

_With a startled jerk, Loghain spun about and saw a figure emerge from the darkness of the settlement. It shuffled toward him with a painful gait. The voice… the voice was one he recognized, but it had a guttural quality to it, as if something had been caught in its throat. As the figure came into sight, Loghain saw that it was a woman, one he had known intimately, though she looked nothing like he remembered._

_The curly and voluminous hair was now stringy and falling out in patches. She wore the tattered remains of a fine gown, the fabric filthy and showing large expanses of corrupted skin underneath. Her body was wasted, the figure merely skin stretched over skeletal tissue and bone. Her breasts were shriveled and the battle scars on her body pulled tightly at the surrounding skin._

"_Why, Loghain?"_

_His mouth opened, but no words came forth. What was he to say? He had stayed away for all those years… avoiding her, avoiding Maric… Guilt rushed through him, the wounds of the past opening again. What could he have done differently? Should he have kept Rowan for himself, encouraging her to forgo her betrothal as she had thought about doing? He could have spent those few remaining years of her life with her, marrying her and maybe even fathering children. _

"_Rowan, I…"_

_Her face began to morph, her corrupted features changing before his eyes. Dark hair straightened and lengthened, muscles becoming softer and more feminine. A scar appeared near her eye, and a second, newly healed one appeared on her chest._

"_Loghain, help me. I feel the taint within me. Help me stop it. Don't let it change me."_

_He watched with dawning horror as the figure morphed into Lhiannon. The taint within her seethed and crawled under her skin. Before he could reply, she uttered a bloodcurdling scream, her hands reaching up to her face and clawing at the flesh._

"_Loghain, please! Don't let this happen."_

"_Lhiannon, what is happening? What—"_

_Her body began to writhe, her abdomen growing distended and enveloping her legs. Her body continued to grow grotesquely, with several new pairs of breasts appearing along her flesh. She screamed in madness, clawing at her body as it grew beneath her, chunks of tainted flesh peeling off of her to land with wet thumps on the ground._

_Loghain watched helplessly, unable to move or speak as his horror enveloped him. He was powerless, frozen in place as his love became a hideous monster, her face nearly unrecognizable and her mind shattered in madness._

_A shadow stepped forth from the darkness behind what was left of Lhiannon, this new figure tall and lithe as it stepped forward. Loghain's despair turned to rage as he recognized the creature._

_"Help me, and help her avoid this fate. Do not let this opportunity pass. Do not condemn her to this."_

_"What you propose is madness, and we will not be participants in it."_

_"Then you, too, leave me no choice. I will take what you will not give."_

_Loghain reached behind him, seeking the sword that was always in the scabbard on his back... but his hand closed around empty air. The creature that had been Lhiannon suddenly stopped its writhing, focusing on Loghain with murderous rage. A tentacle sprang forth from the creature, wrapping around Loghain's chest and beginning to squeeze, crushing, suffocating…_

Loghain woke with a start, his body trembling and soaked with sweat. His eyes focused on the sleeping form of Lhiannon beside him. She was facing him, her expression one of serenity, a look that rarely crossed her features of late. After several moments of fruitless attempts to relax and find sleep again, he rose and made sure Lhiannon was adequately covered by the blankets of their bedroll before moving toward the small fire of the camp. Anders sat at watch, twirling an ancient splinter of wood in his fingers. They had made camp inside the remains of the settlement's small tavern, which had been cut directly into the rock face. It was still sturdy and quite defensible from any wandering bands of darkspawn.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Loghain nodded curtly and sat near the fire, drinking from the small flagon that Anders had handed to him. "Bloody taint; this environment just encourages nightmares." He rubbed his face, feeling the rasp of the day's stubble under his palms, stubble that had been turning more and more gray as time passed.

Anders chewed at the inside of his cheek, his lips twisted with the effort. "You know, the further we travel here, the more I agree with Sigrun. This place feels _wrong_... not that the Deep Roads ever feel right, but it's a particular type of wrongness." Anders lowered his voice, leaning closer to Loghain. "I feel like something is watching us, like something is calling to us. Something familiar. It makes my skin crawl."

"You sound like Sigrun."

"Don't tell me you don't feel it too, Loghain. Even Anwen feels it, and she hasn't been a Warden for very long."

Remembering his dream, Loghain scoffed lightly. He was not about to feed their reservations by talking about his own. "Compounding fears serves no purpose. We need to focus on making sure the darkspawn threat is minimized, and then finding a route to the surface."

"Well, at least the cave in did us a small favor at the breach," Anders said as he tossed his splinter of wood onto the fire.

"_Can_ we find a route to the surface?" Sigrun asked, coming from the nearby shadows to join Anders and Loghain by the fire. She nibbled on her lower lip, her expression one of seriousness that Loghain rarely saw. "Somehow, I don't think the darkspawn would have conveniently left a map for us lying around, and I don't know nearly enough of what these old dwarven symbols mean. Dusters aren't known for having the best education."

Loghain looked at both Sigrun and Anders in turn, studying their worried and expectant expressions. He suspected that they were looking at him to give them reassurance, hoping that he would tell them that he knew exactly where they were, given his previous trip to Gwaren through the Deep Roads. He was reasonably certain that he would recognize his previous path if they found it, especially when—

"Sigrun, are you familiar with the Legion of the Dead's outposts under Ferelden? Did you travel between them?"

The dwarf shook her head. "Not in this part of the Deep Roads. My regiment mainly traveled between Orzammar and Kal'Hirol. We only had a handful of old maps; the rest were lost when Bownammar fell. I wouldn't be so worried if I had been here before."

Loghain pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing at the dull ache that had appeared there. Of course she had not been in this part of the Deep Roads; that would have been too easy. They would have to hope for the best... and trust that luck would be with them.

_Luck._

* * *

At the opposite end of the settlement from the grand arch and beyond the ruins of a large set of stone doors, a path led down deeper into the earth. The concentration of taint was thicker here than what they had seen before, the Wardens' senses pulling them closer to whatever lay beyond. Like the path they had followed from the surface, the steps had little in the way of taint on them, or even the layers of dust that time should have left behind; darkspawn had, apparently, frequented this path before. At the bottom of the path lay a hallway, dark beyond the light of the lanterns.

They moved into the hallway, observing doorways at regular intervals on either side as they passed. Lhiannon walked just behind Oghren and Sigrun, who had taken point, their stone sense guiding the way. Anders and Anwen followed her, with Loghain at the rear. Some of the rooms were devoid of anything that would tell what their purpose had been. Others had mounds of rubble inside, possibly gathered from the other rooms to be set aside. Age and the taint made it impossible to tell what the items were.

"What is this place?" Anwen asked, her voice low and betraying her nervousness.

"I've been wondering that myself," Anders said. "This isn't like any part of the Deep Roads that I've seen before."

"They're laid out like barracks," Loghain said, peering into a room of rubble. "But I don't see anything here that is indicative of such; no weapons. No armor racks."

"Maybe it's like those underground tombs the Nevarrans build for themselves," Anders added. It was all too fitting for the situation they had found themselves in—except there were no treasures here, no statues depicting great rulers, no sarcophagi. He blanched, and then felt his cheeks burn red at the looks his companions gave him, ranging from Loghain's dark glower, to Lhiannon's pursed lips, to the abject fear on Anwen's face. Anders was grateful that the low light hid his embarrassment. "Um, sorry. Bad example."

The sense of darkspawn grew as they moved along, but none of the creatures had shown themselves. It made Lhiannon uneasy; darkspawn were not known to hide when the Grey Wardens were in the vicinity. Surely, if they sensed the darkspawn, the darkspawn could sense them.

"I don't like this."

Lhiannon looked down to see Sigrun walking at her side, her hands fingering the hilts of her daggers. The dwarf's gaze was fixed firmly ahead of them, scanning the darkness. "Nope, not one little bit. Why aren't they coming out?"

"I wish I knew, Sigrun. A part of me wishes that they'd just come out so we could get the fighting over with."

"I mean, I'd swear to the ancestors that I've seen movement ahead of us—"

"Wait... _what?_ You _saw_ something? What about Oghren?"

Sigrun scoffed. "Huh. He's spent way too much time in the lights of the city. I've been in the dark a lot longer with the Legion... your eyes get sharp or you die. But, yeah, if you were to put a knife to my throat, I'd say something is here."

A sense of foreboding joined the maddening itch of the taint in Lhiannon's blood. "Then they know we're here, which makes me even more nervous." She quietly called for a halt and the Wardens gathered in a circle, waiting for her to speak. As she opened her mouth, a shrill wail came from up ahead of them. Lhiannon's blood seethed at the wail. Her stomach felt as if it had dropped to her feet; she dreaded what could make that sound, yet knew what it was just the same.

She met each of her companions' gazes in turn, and saw within their eyes the same thing that she felt. "I'm of the opinion that we should keep going, and fast," she said. "Any arguments?"

There were none.

They continued along the dark hallway, counting and quickly investigating rooms as they went. The wailing continued, broken occasionally by fits of what the Wardens thought was incoherent babbling. As they drew closer, their tainted blood crawled inside their veins with a life of its own, and intensified as the unmistakable odor of darkspawn increased around them; the odor of decay, corruption, and despair.

The Wardens paused near a wide doorway on their left, the widest doorway that they had seen thus far. Dark streaks led toward the intact door from the hallway beyond... a door with a crude bar thrown across the front to prevent it from opening. Anwen stepped forward and crouched down, brushing her gloved fingers against the streak. Her fingers left small trails behind. Lhiannon watched intently as Anwen brought her fingers to her face and sniffed; a grimace crossed the elf's face and she quickly wiped her fingers on the nearby wall.

"Blood," she said as she stood and brushed off her hands. "A great deal of it... recent."

The babbling began again, coming from beyond the door next to them. "Please don't tell me that we're going to look," Anders said, his shoulders slumping and betraying his resignation. "That door is barred for a reason and I really don't want to know why that is."

Lhiannon placed a hand on the bar and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the slow flip of her stomach at the fetid air she breathed in. Dread filled her at what they would find beyond the door. She steeled herself and pulled away the bar.

"Who's there? Please, please…"

The voice startled Lhiannon, who had been expecting something far less coherent. She pushed open the door and entered, her Wardens close behind. Gasps of shock and surprise followed her as they took in the scene before them.

The room appeared to have been a gathering room or dining hall once; time and the darkspawn had made the area unrecognizable. Now, all that remained in the room were bones that had been picked clean, articles of stained clothing thrown into haphazard piles, filth, and darkspawn.

Along the two long walls of the room, five distended and perverted female forms sat on the floor; of the five, only one appeared to be alive. The creature's tentacles slithered slowly and lackadaisically along the floor, pushing the piles of filth from side to side. Their movement stirred up the air, adding the scent of decay to the air. One of the tentacles stretched across its body and appeared to be massaging the multiple pairs of breasts. The Wardens remained near the door, both out of the creature's reach and ready to flee the room if the creature turned hostile.

"I'm so hungry, yes, hungry," the creature said, hands rubbing flesh where a human stomach would have been. "Hungry for _real_ food... chicken? Yes, chick chick chicken." It shook its head quickly from side to side, tendrils of scraggly hair sticking across the flesh of its face. "Not the man flesh... no. It doesn't taste like pork! No! Man flesh tastes like... man flesh!"

Sour bile rose in Lhiannon's throat at the broodmother's words. She knew how broodmothers were created, but it was no less shocking now than it had been when she had first learned. Her eyes flicked to where Loghain stood nearby; had she not known him better, she would have said that his look of disgust veiled something beneath; he looked horrified, as if this creature was one he had personally known.

Anwen's voice was little more than a whisper when she spoke. "By the Creators, what _is_ this thing?" She poked at a tentacle lying on the floor with her toe, the shriveled nature of the appendage indicating that it belonged to one of the dead broodmothers. Lhiannon watched as Anwen shuddered in disgust at the sound the tentacle made as it rustled on the floor. "I have never seen anything like this before."

"Broodmother," Anders said, his eyes never leaving the live one across the room. "This one was a human woman once; there are also those created from dwarven or elven women. The darkspawn do… terrible things… to transform them."

"A _human woman_?" Anwen repeated, her voice betraying the disbelief she felt at the revelation. "What do they do to them to make them this way?"

The broodmother waved her arms as if to draw attention to herself. "Eat them! Made me eat them. Sour, rotten meats." The creature brought its hands to its face, burying it in them and shuddering as if sobbing. "Ate Landon. Ate Seward. Ate Jerrard. Even ate Mayor Thorley… never liked him. But… didn't want to… but they _made_ me. And then I was _so_ hungry and had to fight Ailie, and Penney, and the others… and the big dragon _laughed_ at us…"

Oghren leaned forward, his lips near Sigrun's ear. "I think I know where the villagers went."

"Yeah, me, too."

Anwen turned to Anders, her expression one of revulsion. Anders could see from the elf's wide eyes and slightly open mouth that she had made the connection between the villagers and the broodmothers. He nodded curtly, returning his attention to the living creature. "Not now, Anwen. However this creature appears, know this: it is still very, very dangerous."

The small sound of a creaking bow told Anders that Anwen had taken his words seriously.

The sounds of anguished sobs filled the room, freezing the Wardens in place as they watched the ruined woman regain some semblance of humanity, if only for a fleeting instant. After a moment, the creature raised its head and the Wardens saw dark rivulets resembling tears had run down its face. "The man… the bad man… made me remember after he took the song away. The song made me forget, but I _remember_."

Lhiannon took a small step forward, drawing closer but still well outside the broodmother's reach. Even as a question formed on her lips, she knew the answer, and feared it. "The 'bad man?' Who is that?"

"Too soon… too soon… the change came too soon," the broodmother crooned. The creature held a finger up to her lips. "Shh… secret… I'll tell you a secret."

Sigrun appeared at Lhiannon's side, her eyes never leaving the broodmother. "Commander, this broodmother is full up on crazy. We need to put it out of its misery and get out of here."

"I'm in complete agreement," Loghain said as he raised his sword into a ready position. "We must end this creature's mad existence before it can breed further."

Without warning, the broodmother's blood curdling scream filled the room, its tentacles shaking wildly as its hands grasped handfuls of what hair remained on it and pulled. A sickly ripping sound echoed through the room as hair was ripped from flesh in great bloody tufts. "The children were monsters! Like maggots! The others had them… and the man was angry. Thought mine would be better. Tried to make mine better… made me drink blood."

As the broodmother spoke, Lhiannon felt her brows knit together. What the creature had described was an all too familiar scenario, one that needed to be brought to a conclusion, whatever the cost, before a new Blight could begin on the heels of another. It had to end before this broodmother could breed again, and before the remains of the woman inside could be violated again. It had to end before others became the tools of madness and evil. Lhiannon's tainted blood seethed and itched beneath her flesh in reaction to the creature.

As if it had read Lhiannon's thoughts, the broodmother spoke again. "There are others… yes… more…" Its eyes fell to Anwen. "… Like you…"

Anwen felt her blood turn to ice within her as the creature stared at her, its gaze boring through her flesh as if trying to see the fear lodged within her. Icy fingers gripped her heart, making it feel as if it had skipped several beats. She tried to put a scowl on her face to mask her fear and revulsion of the creature. "Like me? What do you mean?"

The ruined creature laughed, a sing-song type of sound that sent shivers down Anwen's spine. One of the tentacles pointed toward Anwen as a hand brushed tainted and bloody skin in a mockery of the pattern tattooed on the elf's face. "Painted… like you. Savage… like you… but not like _me_. Not yet."

Before anyone could retort, Sigrun her face up toward Lhiannon. "We need to get out of here. _Now._ Darkspawn are coming."

The increasing itch and buzzing in her skull confirmed Sigrun's suspicions to Lhiannon. The sense of something drawing near was very real, and filled her with dread. Even the broodmother had stopped moving and cocked her head as if listening.

"That's more than enough confirmation for me," Lhiannon said while she conjured her mana. As it coalesced into a blue-white ball in her hand, Loghain dropped his shield to the ground, wrapping his shield hand around the pommel of his sword in a deadly two-handed grip. The broodmother drew breath as if to speak but, before it could, Lhiannon thrust her hand toward the creature and released the spell. It flew toward the creature and struck it full on in the face. The blue and while ice ran along the distorted and corrupted flesh, the momentum slowing as it moved farther away from the broodmother's head. Within seconds, the creature was encased in ice with only the tips of her tentacles twitching.

Loghain had followed close behind the ice spell, moving quickly despite the weight of the armor covering him. He leaped onto the folds of the distended stomach, using the weight of his body and armor to drive the point of his sword through the frozen, brittle throat of the broodmother. Flesh broke off around the wound in frozen, bloody chunks.

"Move!" Anwen hissed toward Loghain as she pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back and pulled her bow taught. "_Halam salin._" She released the arrow and breathed a sigh of relief when it embedded itself in the broodmother's frozen left eye. For good measure, Anwen drew and released a second arrow and felt a feral grin pull at her lips when the arrow found its mark in the pitiful creature's forehead.

The itching in Lhiannon's blood grew more insistent, hot and crawling beneath her flesh. She sensed a group of darkspawn headed in their direction, closing fast. Even though dread filled her at the approaching confrontation, a seed of anger also sprouted inside her. She focused on that anger, seeking to use it to end the menace once and for all.

Outside the broodmother chamber, the hallway remained dark. Whatever was approaching was not in direct sight as of yet, though Lhiannon thought she caught a glimpse of an orange glow farther down the path. She blinked hard, not sure if the sense of darkspawn thrumming through her was causing her imagination to run wild. When she opened them again, the hallway remained dark.

"Do we keep going forward, or head back to the settlement and make a stand there?" Anders whispered into the darkness. Lhiannon could sense him drawing his mana around himself, the air between them becoming charged and tense.

"Fall back," Loghain said, dimming the lanterns they carried so that they only produced marginal light. "Sigrun, you and Anwen will take point; your eyes are best in the dark. Oghren and I will take the rear to confront anything coming up from behind."

"Looking to bottleneck 'em at the entrance to whatever this sodding place is?" Oghren asked, taking his position.

"Yes," Loghain said, moving to take position. "The mages can then use their magic—"

"Oh _shit_," Sigrun said, her voice a low hiss in the darkness. "Velanna—"

A blinding flash lit the darkness, and then they were falling. From the cacophony of light and sound, a voice:

"Yes."

* * *

_Big thanks to my awesome beta Suilven and her speedy review! Your suggestions are always spot on and I appreciate you so much!_

_The Dragon Age wiki states that there is a dwarven language, but that it's rarely spoken in Orzammar or on the surface. With the race being based on Scandinavian cultures, I sought out old Norse languages for inspiration. The language I wanted to use, Norn, is an extinct language. I thought that would be perfect... until I discovered that Norn was spoken mostly by those who could neither read nor write, so little of the language exists in written form, and the last native speaker was believed to have died in the 1800s. The language I ended up using is Faroese, a language spoken by about 100,000 people in the Faroe Islands of Denmark. It's descended from the Old West Norse language, which was spoken during the Middle Ages. Wikipedia and freelang dot. net were very helpful in research._

_As for the settlement the Wardens found themselves in, I found inspiration in the tomb of Ramesses II (or Ramesses the Great). It's known as Kings Valley 5, or KV5. The tomb is huge: 400 meters long and over 120 known corridors and rooms. The tomb is still being excavated; archeologists believe it could have over 150 rooms. Several of his sons are known to have been buried there, and there could be many more (it's believed that he fathered several dozen sons and daughters). Pharaoh needed something do to when he wasn't smiting his enemies; I guess we know what that was. :p_

_Cookies and big thanks to reviewers skidney, Ventisquear, Wyl, Shakespira, Oleander's One, Suilven, Arsinoe, Denfree, Seika, and Tyanilth. You all are awesome (and I owe more than one of you reviews on stories... I need a clone, darn it!)._

_As always, thanks to everyone following along. I very much appreciate it! :)_


	58. Resistance is Futile

_**Thanks to the super speedy beta by my beta extraordinaire, the lovely Suilven... you totally rock! Your support has been invaluable!  
**_

* * *

"Ohhh... somebody make that bloody noise _stop_."

Anders grimaced at the loud buzzing that surrounded him, penetrated him, and made his heart vibrate strangely in his chest. His head ached and his thoughts felt as if they had come across a great distance with equally great difficulty. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and he doubted he would have the strength to open them at that moment. Beyond the buzzing, Anders thought he heard a whispering; incoherent and just barely perceptible. He thought that if he could just stay still and silent long enough—even stop breathing long enough—the whispering might coalesce into actual words. Try as he might, he simply could not hear what lay beyond him, murmuring. Still, he lay motionless, compelled to try and discern the sounds around him.

After several moments of both agonized listening and wondering if the maddening buzz just might make his brain shatter, the sound began to diminish, though it still resonated within his body; it made his blood crawl as if it had a life of its own. He realized then that the buzzing was not a sound in the air _around_ him, but _within_ him and his mind.

Darkspawn.

The air around him was stale and fetid but, even as he drew breath, his nose gradually grew used to it. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and concentrated on his memories, seeking to remember what had happened and where he could be. He sensed himself lying on his side, knees drawn up toward his chest and a damp chill working its way through him. There had been a flash, he remembered that much. He remembered falling, landing painfully on his elbow as he had sunk to the ground. As if summoned, the elbow began to throb, quickly matching his heartbeat so that it felt like a second heart had spontaneously appeared there. He moved to sit up and examine his injury...

... And gasped when he realized that his hands were bound tightly behind him.

His eyes flew open; wide as they adjusted to the darkness of the space around him. Gradually, the area came into focus; he was in a small room, one similar to those they had previously investigated before the blinding light had overtaken them. A dim glow came from an ancient sconce on the wall, barely enough to cast light to all four walls of the room. The door was closed, preventing him from seeing beyond it. Whether it was locked or not was an unanswered question.

"Oh sweet flaming Andraste… this is _not_ good." Anders tested his bonds and felt cool metal against his bare flesh. The metal held his wrists tightly together, with no freedom of movement. There was no slack in them, so trying to wiggle his hands through the cuffs was out of the question. He struggled into a seated position and tried to twist his head and neck around to view his bonds. In the faint light, he could see a thick, heavy chain leading from his bonds to a metal ring set into the floor. The chain was short, only a few feet long. He might be able to stand and take a few steps, but little more than that. Save for himself and the bonds that held him, the room was empty. Not even his pack and staff were visible.

"Shit! This is _definitely _not good." He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm his rapidly fraying nerves. Panic was a situation he could ill afford, yet it threatened to grow within him until he was paralyzed by his fear. There were plenty of reasons for him to fall into such a state; for one, the feel of darkspawn around him was nearly oppressive. It was all but impossible to determine friend from foe; there had to be a large number of them near. It was obvious to him that he and his companions were clearly outnumbered. At the thought of the others, Anders made himself go very still, turning his mind's eye inward to focus his attention on the sounds of the area around him; he hoped to hear something that indicated he was not alone.

Nothing.

Anders lowered his forehead to his knees, wincing at the pain radiating through him via his aching elbow. His thoughts once more returned to the moments just before he had fallenell unconscious. Sigrun… he remembered Sigrun saying _something_… Suddenly, he lifted his head and opened his eyes; his gaze fell on the doorway as the thought came to him. What of that last word he had heard before falling into unconsciousness? Sigrun had said 'Velanna;' why would she say the elf's name all of a sudden?

"All right, Andy ol' pal, let's think about this for a moment," he muttered into the room as he looked about once more. "I'm alive, so that's something; if the darkspawn wanted me—or us—dead, we'd _be_ dead. So, then, why would they want any of us alive?"

Anders pressed his lips together as he thought. If the darkspawn had not killed them—yet—then they were needed for something, and there was only one creature that Anders knew of that would want Grey Wardens alive.

While Anders' pondered the situation, he slowly became aware of a new sensation around him. He looked up and focused his attention on the door once again. It seemed as if his peripheral vision had spotted something but, when he turned his gaze to look directly at the anomaly, it appeared normal. When the anomalies appeared, it seemed as if whispering could be heard, sinister yet beguiling at the same time. The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise; wherever they were in the Deep Roads, death and suffering had rendered the Veil thin.

Anders shivered involuntarily; just how much more could the Veil withstand before sundering completely? If that happened, darkspawn would be the least of their problems.

* * *

"Damned sodding bastards! Get your stones out and fight me man to man!"

Oghren yanked at the chain joining the large metal manacle around his ankle to the ring set into the floor nearby. The sound rang loudly in his ears as it bounced off the walls around him. His rage had not taken long to build to a crescendo when he had woken up to find himself alone in a small cell. His head pounded as if a herd of brontos had been stomping their way through it, which certainly put him in the right mood for raging. It was sodding bad enough that he was chained to the floor like an animal, but the nughumpers that had ambushed them had also taken his armor and beloved axe, leaving him in the light garments he wore underneath. He had fought hard to earn that Warden armor and the axe had been his companion for a long time; it was like an extension of his own body. He understood now why Sten had lamented the loss of his Asala during the Blight, since Oghren saw his axe in much the same way. He growled and yanked on the chain again, his rage building at the thought of some filthy darkspawn's hands all over his stuff.

"Come on, you nughumpers! I'll fight you with my bare hands!"

After several more moments of yanking on the chain and shouting obscenities, he sat on the floor with a growl. The rage inside him needed an outlet soon; if he had had a cot or a small table in the room, he would have happily vented those feelings on them. Unfortunately, he and his chain were the only items in the dimly lit space.

Oghren found himself surprised that no one—or no _thing_—had come to investigate when he had been shouting and cursing his captors' ancestors and questioning their parentage. That was unusual; someone should have come. Was he alone here? He was not entirely sure; all he knew was that there were darkspawn around, and a great deal of them. So, in that light, he was far from alone.

He ran his fingers over the cool links of the chain holding him captive. The light around him was dim, but he was able to see some details. It was still fairly smooth; there were no pits in the metal signaling deterioration. He could feel no gaps in the links that could be exploited. The locking mechanism on the metal cuff was easy enough to reach but he was no lock-picker, even if there had been items in the room to use for such a purpose.

"Well, fuck ya and your sodding ancestors, too," he muttered as he glared sullenly at the doorway. "I'll just kill ya with my bare hands if you find your shriveled up stones for balls and face me."

* * *

The sounds of murmured prayers and shallow breathing were the only indications that anyone was in yet another room within the ancient settlement. Anwen sat with her legs folded under her and her hands on her knees as she prayed in her low voice to the pantheon of the elvhen for aid and protection. Her light chain armor had been removed, likely to treat the myriad of bumps and bruises she felt along her body. She, too, was chained at the ankle, the heavy links threaded through a metal ring in the floor, the other end of the chain ending with a manacle attached to Sigrun's leg. The dwarf was unconscious, her head bandaged with a dingy, rough homespun cloth. Even in the pale light, Anwen could see dark bruising on Sigrun's flesh extending from underneath the bandage. One of Sigrun's wrists was also bound with the same cloth, covering what appeared to be some type of splint.

"Mythal, All-Mother and Protector, lend me your strength. Protect us from those who would do us harm."

Anwen completed her prayer and turned to check on Sigrun again. The pale pallor of the dwarf's skin worried her; Anwen knew the basic healing skills of the elvhen—hunters needed such skills when out on the hunt—however, Sigrun's injuries were beyond her meager abilities. Their packs had the healing draughts inside but they were nowhere to be found. Anwen sighed; the best she could do was keep Sigrun's wounds clean, which might prove difficult amongst the dirt and filth around them.

Still, someone or _something_ had taken pains to clean and treat their wounds in some way, but, why?

"Do our captors want the females healthy before they turn us into those horrid broodmothers?" The thought made Anwen shudder violently in revulsion, yet it also fed her fear and anger. She would rather end her own life than linger on in that existence; a servant to whatever dark forces compelled the darkspawn. Without weapons, could she find some way to end her life if circumstances demanded it? Would she be ready to dash her head against the stone? Would it even work?

Anwen scowled, knowing that such speculation served no purpose. There _must_ be another way for them to escape; she would have to watch and be ready for such a chance. Patience was something ingrained into her as a hunter, and she could afford a degree of it even in these circumstances. Like a hunter, she would watch and wait for the right opportunity to present itself. Even if she managed to escape and found herself wandering the darkness of the Deep Roads alone, it would be better that than an existence as a broodmother.

Sigrun stirred slightly, a small and pained groan escaping her lips. Anwen moved closer and sat beside her, gently brushing a stray lock of hair off of Sigrun's face before checking her wounds once more.

_I hope the durgen'len wakes soon; this is a dreadful place to be alone._

* * *

Awareness came slowly to Loghain; a vague sense of movement and murmuring around him, followed by the sensation of lying on his side on a cold, hard surface. He could tell that his armor had been removed, but that he was still dressed in the lightly padded shirt and trousers he wore under it. Even when he was more aware than not, he kept himself still and his eyes closed, listening to his surroundings for as long as possible before giving any outward indication that he was conscious. The feel of darkspawn surrounded him, covered him like a heavy blanket in winter. They were close, too, as if they were observing him briefly before moving away again.

He was also bound, of that he was certain. Heavy manacles circled his wrists, binding them in front of him. That, at least, would give him a range of movement to try and overpower his captors if an opportunity presented itself. He could still throw a good punch.

As he listened to his surroundings, he could not sense Lhiannon or the other Wardens; it was vexing him, causing small, niggling doubts to run rampant at the back of his mind. He pushed the apprehension aside, a plan starting to take shape in his mind. He needed to know where they were if an escape was to be attempted. With luck, his belongings—especially the map he had been drawing—would be nearby. After securing the map, he would need to locate and free one of the mages; their spells could cause massive damage over a wide area—

"You need not feign unconsciousness, Warden. I know that you are awake."

Loghain knew that voice.

With the subterfuge known, Loghain opened his eyes and looked toward the owner of the calm, chilling voice. The Architect stood with his back to Loghain, working with something on a long table he stood at. The room appeared to be a laboratory of some sort, not entirely dissimilar to the one the creature had had under Amaranthine. Vials of various shapes and sizes were scattered across the surface of the table, as well as writing implements, parchment, and books.

Loghain looked down at the manacles surrounding his wrists. He discovered that they were attached to a second set on his ankles by a chain; he snorted inwardly as he realized the chain connecting his bonds gave him little freedom of movement. The thought of being able to fight back even though his hands were bound slipped away. With a small groan of effort, Loghain sat up and rested his hands on his bent knees. He would not lie on the ground before the creature as if weak and broken.

Absent from the room were the other Wardens... and Lhiannon. He could not feel her presence amongst the tainted creatures in the vicinity. It was likely that she was also being held captive somewhere but, unable to feel the unique part of the Taint that was her, he could not be certain. The Architect had wanted her alive before...

Regardless, Loghain needed to discover their whereabouts and try to glean more information regarding the precariousness of their position. The only one that could give Loghain that information was the creature before him. He found himself torn; he needed to know where Lhiannon was and if she was still alive and safe, but did not want to do or say something where the Architect could use his feelings against him any more than he already could.

"Where are the other Grey Wardens?"

The Architect turned to face Loghain, the expression on the creature's face the same calm facade that he remembered from his dream. He spread his hands slowly as if in supplication. "They are secure. Their wounds have been treated. I and my brethren have no wish to harm them—or you—unnecessarily."

Loghain felt his brow furrow and his eyes narrow. "Unnecessarily?" he said, not bothering to hold back his contempt.

"Indeed. It is not my wish to harm you, but I will have your cooperation."

"No," Loghain said as he glowered at the Architect. How many times must it be said? He would not help forward the creature's schemes, even if it meant he and the other Wardens—including Lhiannon—would perish. The thought of losing Lhiannon pained him, but if it meant thwarting the Architect's ambition, it was the price they would have to pay. They knew the risks of being both lovers and Wardens.

As Loghain glowered, the Architect glanced across the room and gave a small nod to someone out of Loghain's vision. He heard several sets of footsteps approaching; one was light of foot, but sure and confident. There were others that had more of a shuffling sound; of feet not quite leaving the ground as whoever it was approached. Several obviously tainted humans stood along one wall, their faces wearing blank expressions as if they were little more than physical husks. Coming to stand next to the Architect were two other creatures that he recognized well, for one had been a Grey Warden, and the other the reason why she was no longer one.

"_You_," Loghain said, his voice a snarl of contempt at the smirking elf that looked down at him. She was recognizable, but joining the Architect had taken a toll. She was even paler than before, with dark patches of corruption scattered below the surface of her skin. Several veins stood out, their dark forms snaking their way under the flesh. Velanna's eyes were slightly milky, and her hair had thinned to the point where her skull shone beneath it.

Next to her was her sister, Seranni; Loghain saw that she was more like the Architect now and less like an elf. What especially caught Loghain's attention was a distention in Seranni's abdomen and the way her hands were becoming claw-like; was she succumbing to the Taint, or was something else happening?

"Second Warden Loghain," Velanna said, her voice just as contemptuous and shrill as he remembered. "You have come to assist me, after all."

"Clearly, spending all of your time with darkspawn has dulled your wits," Loghain said, keeping his gaze locked onto Velanna's face. He would not look away, would not show any sort of deference or compliance to anything she, the Architect, or any of their other cohorts said or threatened to do. If this confrontation would lead to his end, he would defy them to his last breath.

Velanna reached into her robes and pulled forth a small object. Loghain watched warily as the object reflected the dim light of the room; the elf held it up briefly, making sure it was clearly in his line of sight so that he could see exactly what it was: a dagger. The Architect watched from his place nearby, his face an expression of calm studiousness. For her part, Seranni looked at the dagger with an expectant grin on her face, seemingly mesmerized by the light glinting off of the metal surface. With her right hand, Velanna motioned toward one of the tainted humans nearby and beckoned it to her. A middle aged man stepped haltingly forward to stand near Velanna, holding up his forearm as if in offering. The look on his face looked resigned and almost... grateful.

Slowly and deliberately, Velanna drew the knife across the man's skin, opening up a shallow wound in the tainted arm. Blood welled up from within, a stark contrast of dark red against the grayish-white skin.

Dread began to fill Loghain as he watched Velanna begin to move her hands, her gestures drawing the blood from the thrall's skin to dance around her fingers in thin red ribbons. Her voice was low as the words of her spell filled the air between them. The ribbons grew into long strands before she flicked her fingers toward Loghain, sending tendrils streaming toward him.

Loghain flinched as the ribbons of blood drew near, watched with barely suppressed anger and fear as they danced around him in a miasmic cloud. His mind began to feel foggy and distant, as if he watched the world around him through someone else's eyes.

"You look so uncomfortable sitting on the floor," Velanna said as a smirk crossed her features. "Why don't you stand?"

To Loghain's horror, his body began to do just that.

His hands moved in jerking motions off of his knees and pressed against the ground. Once his hands were firmly planted, his body began to twist haltingly to the side until he rested on his hands and knees. All the while, he fought against the force of the spell, fought to regain control of his limbs. Blood swirled around him while the spell compelled his body, seething and burning under his flesh as he struggled. It was a back and forth battle; when he felt control returning, the spell would intensify, once more denying him the freedom of movement and driving hot spikes of pain through him. Rather than trying to will his entire body into compliance, Loghain instead concentrated on one part at a time, and hoped that by regaining control in one, it would cascade to the other parts of his body. He focused on his legs, willing them to stop their movement; the pain of fighting the spell was excruciating but, to his relief, they began to respond. With a strangled groan, Loghain was soon able to move his legs under his own power again, though it took much of his strength and concentration to counteract Velanna's spell. As the tendrils of blood surrounding him began to dissipate, the cloudy and disconnected feeling in his mind diminished, though it left him feeling fatigued and his head throbbing as if he had had too much brandy the night before.

"A worthy effort," Loghain said through gritted teeth, his head and gaze directed to the ground beneath him. His breath came in great gasps and a sheen of sweat had formed on his skin. "Worthy indeed, though ultimately futile."

Velanna shook her head in a mocking fashion, looking first toward her sister, then to the Architect. "I told you that he would fight the spell. So confident... so defiant."

"And you were correct," the Architect said in agreement before returning his attention to Loghain. "Velanna often displays impatience with the pace of our work, Warden. Now, I ask you, for the last time, for your willing cooperation. I know that a breakthrough is imminent."

Loghain looked up. "And for the last time, I tell you that I will do no such thing; nor will the Warden Commander, nor the other Wardens that serve under her. We will not cooperate."

The Architect bowed his head, slowly, almost sadly. His calm facade looked resigned. Loghain's gaze went from the Architect, to Velanna, to Seranni, waiting to see what they would now do with him and the other Grey Wardens.

He did not have to wait long. The Architect raised his head. "Seranni, prepare the Warden Commander."

"Right away."

The elf moved off, leaving Loghain alone with the tainted thralls, the Architect, and Velanna. His gaze moved between them, seeing the calm expression of the Architect and Velanna's angry scowl. The thrall next to her stood in mute silence, blood still slowly seeping from the cut on his arm.

"Velanna, see to the others, and then you may ready the Second Warden. But, I remind you, I do not wish him damaged."

The blood in Loghain's veins went cold at the hard, hateful smile that crossed Velanna's features. "I can make you no promises; if the Warden fights me, he will only injure himself."

A small sigh escaped the Architect's twisted lips. "Then, perhaps, his self-injury will teach him the futility of resistance."

* * *

There was a crack in the stone floor of the cell that Anwen had traced with her finger, her mind imagining that it was a river flowing through the land of the elvhen. It twisted from side to side in gentle curves, nearly disappearing in the places where she had pushed bits of dirt into the small crevice. She had found it easier to study the crack than to dwell on the circumstances in which they had found themselves. It had been bad enough to accompany the other Wardens into the earth, but to find herself trapped here—with who knew how much earth and rock above them, pressing down on their prison—set her already anxious nerves on edge. She longed for the open sky, the rustle of leaves on the wind, the feel of soft earth beneath her feet, and the comforting smell of wildflowers around her. However, the current situation put doubts of ever seeing those things again firmly in mind. She looked toward Sigrun, who was still unconscious beside her. From what Anwen could perceive in the dim light of the room, Sigrun's color had improved slightly and her breathing had become less shallow. It was a relief, but Anwen admitted to herself that she would feel better once the durgen'len had awakened. She was of the stone: she would know what to do.

As she pondered both what she missed and Sigrun's condition, Anwen became aware of a crawling sensation within her flesh and an annoying buzz within her head. Something tainted was drawing particularly close. The hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms rose, making her feel as if she were prey. It was a curious and uncomfortable sensation, and she wondered if this was what the deer she had hunted had felt like in the moments before her arrow had found its mark.

When the door to the room opened, Anwen was momentarily taken aback at the sight of the woman who had entered. She carried a staff and wore stained robes, but they were in a style that Anwen found familiar.

"_Andaran atish'an_," the woman said, bowing her head slightly.

"You are one of the _elvhen_," Anwen said, her voice wary and inflection more questioning than not. "You have _vallaslin_."

The woman nodded again. "I am Velanna of Clan Relant. And _you_ are a Grey Warden."

Anwen hesitated for a moment, unsure of what exactly it was that she saw before her. The woman was definitely Dalish—but tainted—and spoke in a manner that implied sanity, unlike the other female that they had recently encountered. Was it wise to converse with this woman? Was she the one holding them captive and, if so, why?

A memory surfaced in Anwen's mind as she studied the woman; 'Velanna' had been the name that Sigrun had said before their capture; it was a Dalish name. This, apparently, was _that_ person, but who was she other than what she had claimed? Perhaps speaking to her would give Anwen the insight she lacked in her present situation.

"I am Anwen of Clan Silhart." She narrowed her eyes, studying the other elf closely. "Why are _you_ here? I can sense taint within you; are you also a Grey Warden?"

"You might say that," Velanna said.

"Then, are you here to close this breach as well? I do not remember the others speaking of you."

Velanna gave an angry snort. "No, I can see why they would not. Let us say that the Wardens and I have differences of opinion." She waved a hand through the air. "You need not fear me, _lethallin_, or the others here. The fact that you are Dalish will give you choices that your companions will not have."

Anwen's brows furrowed; if by 'choices' Velanna meant that she would not face the future as a broodmother, she was willing to listen. "What do you mean by 'choices'? And you didn't answer _my_ question: what _are_ you doing here?"

The air in the room seemed to chill as Velanna crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Anwen with a stare just as cold. "When last I looked, _you _were the prisoner here. However, since you are Dalish and what happens here could affect you—if you choose—I shall tell you." Velanna made a motion toward the door and, when she spoke, her voice was venomous. "My sister had been taken by the minions of a creature here—he calls himself the 'Architect'—and I risked everything to rescue her. I begged the Warden Commander to help me save her; I became a Grey Warden so that I _could_ save her. The Warden Commander refused to help, so I took it upon myself to find Seranni."

A heavy silence filled the room as Velanna paused. Anwen watched as the other woman clenched her fists, which caused the delicate—yet taint-darkened—veins to stand out under her fair skin. She stayed silent, hoping that Velanna would continue without being prompted as she was unsure of what to say.

She did not have to wait long. Velanna took a step forward, her hands held out as she pleaded. "You know what it's like when a Dalish goes missing; it's a blow to the entire clan, one that is not easily forgotten. I... wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if I had not tried. The shemlens don't understand what that means and don't _want_ to understand. I had to find Seranni... and I did. And, now, I know why she chose to stay with the Architect. He's not wrong... he's going to help us... help the Dalish."

Confusion filled Anwen; she did not understand what it was Velanna was saying. How could these frightening and pitiful creatures help the Dalish? It, apparently, did not matter, as Velanna continued her impassioned speech.

"I was trained as the First to our clan's Keeper, Ilshae. I know the old magic and the Architect has promised to teach me the spells to protect our people once his plans have come to fruition."

"Plans?"

"The Architect seeks to free his brethren from the hold the old Tevinter gods have over them. If the darkspawn cannot hear the call and corrupt an old god that they find, there will be no more Blights, no more reason for the darkspawn to breach the surface and take those we love, and no more war. This is what he wants: _peace_. We can be a part of that peace; Grey Wardens are the answer. If all the races of Thedas were united as Grey Wardens, there would be peace."

"But, how would you do this? You are talking about the Joining; it is fatal for many." Anwen paused briefly and cast her gaze downward. "My brother did not survive the Joining." After Hadyn's face faded from her memory, she raised her eyes to meet Velanna's once more. "Many would not survive."

Velanna shrugged. "The Architect has been refining his Joining compound and believes a breakthrough is near. The sacrifice of the Grey Wardens will ensure it."

"Sacrifice? Is that what we are to the Architect? Sacrifices?"

"You do not have to be. You can be one of those that lead our people to their new land, a land that will be the elvhen's again and safe from the tainted lands to come."

Anwen felt her brows furrow as she tried to follow Velanna's reasoning. "Tainted lands? How does that make our people safe? And what of the elvhen in the human cities? Or those in the lands that were promised by the shemlen king?"

"You know as well as I that the shemlens' Chantry will never let the Dalish live in peace. The shemlen king would seek to pacify you to your face while they all plan for annihilation behind you. Do not be an ignorant fool!"

Anwen glared at Velanna, a flash of anger within her at being called a fool. Asking questions was not foolish; it was a gateway to knowledge, and Anwen wanted to learn as much as she could from Velanna. Her arguments were compelling, yet confusing. Why could she not see that?

Velanna was undeterred. "The Architect believes that there could still be tainted lands. But the elvhen will be shown how to protect themselves and their lands from the unavoidable. There is a large island off the northern coast, and a second island nearby with a shemlen city on it that will be removed. No, we will not remain in these lands." Velanna waved her hand before her. "As for the flat-ears in the human cities, they have chosen their fate. They have resigned themselves to be servants to their shemlen masters rather than fight back or escape and begin their own clans to live like their ancestors. Let them die along with their shemlens."

A slight movement from beside her caused Anwen to look down. Sigrun had shifted slightly, her uneasy moan filling the small room. It was as if she had heard the exchange and was trying to respond. Anwen thought for a moment about the dwarf beside her. "And what of the durgen'len? You spoke of the surface, but what part do they play in this?"

"They will likely shut themselves off from the surface in an attempt to protect themselves, but the Architect's solution will take them from within. They can try to shut themselves off from the Deep Roads, but they would leave their explorers, glory-seeking nobles, and armies cut off."

"So, your plan would destroy most of the creatures both above and below the surface? And will that stop the shemlens from fighting what elvhen remain in a bid for revenge? Or the durgen'len? Or even each other? I am no friend of the shemlen, but even this is beyond anything I have heard of."

Velanna slashed her hand through the air angrily. "The shemlen _deserve_ to be eradicated, just like they did to the People. They will now know what it is like to have their numbers culled and their lands seized. No shemlen will be safe, nor will anyone who allies with them. The Warden Commander and her Second are the means to that end." She paused briefly before continuing, her gaze on Sigrun; Anwen saw that it had softened slightly. "The durgen'len are strong, and many of them will survive. It is unfortunate, but sacrifices must be made, especially if it means the elvhen thrive."

"So, you intend to use the Warden Commander and Second to help the Architect? And what makes you think they will help?"

Velanna grinned, a feral look that nearly made Anwen shiver. "They won't."

"But... that will not stop you."

Velanna thrust her hand toward the door, pointing to the corridor beyond. "They had their chance. They will be forced to help the Architect and forced to help _us_. The shemlens—all of them—will get the fate that they deserve. If it had not been for the shemlens burning out the forests around my clan, I would never have left to fight them, and Seranni wouldn't have left to follow me. They deserve what is coming, starting first with the Warden Commander and her cohorts. The elvhen will rise again and, though I might not live to see it, I know that I will be instrumental in our new beginning." Velanna paused and crossed her arms over her chest. "The talking is done, Anwen of Clan Silhart. Now, the decision comes; will you join us?"

Anwen cast her eyes toward the floor, her thoughts whirling inside her. A chance for the elvhen to be strong and independent again captured her interest. There would be no more need to be nomadic, hurriedly moving from place to place when the shemlen landlords chased them off. They could worship the pantheon without fear of Andrastian clerics and templars harassing them at every opportunity and seizing their mage children. They could rebuild their cities and attempt to regain their lost knowledge and immortality.

But, then there was the dark underside of Velanna's offer. Many would die in the same manner—or worse—than Hadyn had. While the loss of shemlens did not bother her so much, how would they execute this plan without elvhen casualties? What of the durgen'len, who most elvhen were indifferent to? Did they deserve that fate? Was that something Velanna and the Architect had considered and planned for?

As for the shemlens, Anwen could not see them ignoring the clans moving through their lands, all heading for the same place. Many would be happy to see them leave, but others would wish to know why. She especially could not see the shemlens ignoring an elvhen invasion force on their populated islands.

Still... their own land, free from the shems... it was worth almost anything despite the questions Velanna had left unanswered, despite all of her unbridled hate, and the hows and whys of how she'd become that way…

It was beguiling. "I... will consider your offer."

Velanna nodded. "Consider quickly, for time is short for the Grey Wardens... and you. You must choose before the choice is made for you."

* * *

It hurt Loghain to keep his eyes open; he had wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and will the pounding in his head to be still, but the need to observe his captors kept him from doing so. He sat with his back against the stone wall; his knees were drawn up and his bound hands rested on top of them. The ground was cold beneath him, and his muscles were beginning to ache from the chill that was settling into them.

Velanna and her sister had been gone for some time, leaving him behind with the Architect and several other tainted individuals bordering on becoming ghouls. They were strangely silent and stared into space as if they were merely shells of their former selves. For all Loghain knew, they likely were just shells. The Architect stood at a long workbench, his back to Loghain and an ancient quill in his hand as he wrote in a thick book. The quill made scratching noises as it moved along the page; it grated on Loghain's nerves. He could feel his already shortened temper growing even shorter.

No further mention had been made regarding Lhiannon since the Architect had told Seranni to 'prepare' her. What was she to be prepared for? Loghain's instinct told him that the Architect would likely try to take her blood or tissue from her womb again, much like he had in the past. But, what of the dream... what if it had been more a premonition rather than a fear played upon by the Architect? The thought made Loghain's blood freeze inside him. He tried to focus on the buzzing feel of the taint again, seeking to find the part of it that was unique to her. The pain in his head intensified; he tried to will it aside to find her. After several moments of concentration, Loghain quietly hissed in exasperation; there was no sign of her, nor had he discovered any sign of the others. The feel of darkspawn around them was simply too strong to find an individual he could not see.

The Architect soon put his quill down and reached for a small vial on the workbench. He turned and approached Loghain; as he did so, the Architect waved his hand and spoke several words. A small glyph appeared under Loghain, its dim light almost sickly in the gloom around him. With a quick flick of his wrist, the Architect used one of his long talons to open a wound on Loghain's forearm near the elbow. Loghain made to move away, but found that the glyph held his body in place, unmoving. He felt the strain in his muscles as they railed against the spell but, the harder he fought, the more tightly he was held in its grasp. The Architect calmly placed the vial against Loghain's skin—ignoring Loghain's struggling—and collected the blood as it ran in a small trail down his arm.

"Do you not… tire of your... constant failures?" Loghain asked, his voice strained through gritted teeth. "One… failure upon the other as… the decades… passed you by."

The Architect nodded, apparently agreeing with what Loghain had said. "Yes, there have been failures; however, each failure has also brought understanding. In that regard, my work has not been a failure, but a constant evolution toward understanding and the successful results of experimentation." Satisfied at the amount of blood in the vial, the Architect pulled it away from Loghain's arm. He ran the side of one talon along the wound and closed it before rising and turning back toward his workbench. Once he sat the vial down amongst the others, he turned his back toward Loghain. The glyph beneath him winked out of existence, and Loghain felt his limbs respond once more. A pins-and-needles feeling was left behind, which Loghain tried to alleviate by stretching his arms and legs.

After making another notation in his book, the Architect turned around once more; he watched and waited for Loghain to finish stretching before he spoke. "I know that there is a gulf between our peoples—the Grey Wardens and darkspawn—and I seek to bridge that gap with knowledge."

Loghain scoffed. "I do not think any knowledge can bridge that divide; if anything, it will only serve to strengthen our determination to resist you."

"Unfortunately, Warden, you are in no position to resist, and I _will _have what I require. However, your reaction is from ignorance and fear of the unknown, which I _am_ in a position to rectify." The Architect turned and began to work with the vial of fresh blood, opening other vials and adding other liquids to it. The tang of lyrium and odor of decay filled Loghain's nose, which caused his stomach to churn uneasily. A degree of dread filled Loghain at what could be in that vial.

"The jealous god of the slaves has doomed my brethren by cursing both them and our own gods with a never ending cycle of death and the corruption that He said lived in our hearts. The great dragons that remain are restrained, forced to sing a song that their followers are doomed to obey; they obey as they had in times past, when they were dedicated to them in life and death."

Loghain scowled, flicking his bound wrist in a gesture of impatience. "Yes, yes; the Maker doomed those who had breached the Golden City and made them the first darkspawn. Next, you'll tell me that you were there."

The Architect continued, unabated. "There is much that I have remembered but, despite it all, there are still many things I do not remember. However, know this: the great dragons were perfection. They knew us, as we knew them. It is that urge to touch perfection—the hope that that divine touch will save them—that gives the darkspawn their purpose. It is a curse, a false hope given to them by the false god. These darkspawn are the cursed descendants of that doomed expedition... have they not been cursed by the god of the slaves long enough? This is why I must free them and end the cycle." The Architect paused for a moment before he turned and leveled his gaze toward Loghain. "And this brings me to you. I am curious, Warden, as to how you have resisted the taint for so long."

The sense of dread grew within Loghain, though he would be damned if he would show this creature the level of his apprehension. Despite his trepidation, he could not help the derision that crept into his voice. "How come you do not know this, with all of your years of experimentation? For all that you claim to understand, you know little."

"In some ways, you are correct, Warden," the Architect said as he raised the vial to eye level and studied it. "Your blood is strong, and I am curious to see if this will make it stronger." He paused for a moment, gently moving the vial in a circle and swirling the contents together. As if summoned, three heavily armed creatures entered the room and took positions on either side of Loghain. They were clearly darkspawn rather than ghouls, much like those that the Wardens had encountered when they had first arrived at Amaranthine.

"Disciples," the Architect said in way of explanation. "Those that have assisted me. The Acolyte, the Guardian, and the Hunter have observed my work and the ramifications of the Blight. They followed Urthemiel and the darkspawn; they have also kept my work progressing while I traveled to plead with the Grey Wardens for assistance." The Architect nodded toward them; Loghain cursed as the darkspawn took hold of him, two of them on either side holding his upper arms as they dragged him away from the wall and forced him to kneel. The third moved behind him and clutched a handful of Loghain's hair at the back of his skull with one hand and firmly grasped his jaw with the other. Loghain struggled against their firm grasp, feeling warm blood welling on his skin as the disciples' claws dug into the flesh of his head and shoulders.

The Architect stepped closer, holding the vial up in front of Loghain's eyes. Loghain's curses became inarticulate as the darkspawn holding his head pulled his hair back, while the hand on his jaw pulled down. He felt his mouth open forcibly. Loghain tried to shake his head and throw off the disciple's grasp, but only succeeded in feeling a clump of hair pull loose from his scalp and the joint where his jaw and skull met groaned loudly in his ears. His angry shout filled the air before the Architect calmly reached forward and poured the contents of the vial into Loghain's mouth.

Immediately, the taste of copper and rot filled his mouth as the disciple holding his jaw forcibly shut it, ensuring that Loghain could not spit it out in some way. The blood flowed down his throat as he tried to fight against the hand holding his mouth shut. It burned as it flowed inside him and caused Loghain to retch. His lips had parted somewhat despite the disciple's efforts, spraying fine droplets of blood into the air as some trickled out of the side of his mouth. All the while, the Architect patiently waited and watched as Loghain fought a losing battle against the blood in his mouth. A searing pain rushed through him, starting with a heat in his throat and racing along his arms and legs, settling deep within his bones and making them feel as if they were all being broken at once. His muscles screamed in agony as they all tightened at once and felt as if they were being ripped from the bones inside. His vision darkened and narrowed into a small point; he bordered on unconsciousness and a part of him wished that he would pass out until the pain and burning inside him subsided. No matter how hard he wished, however, unconsciousness never came.

Once Loghain's struggles had calmed somewhat, the Architect spoke. "I have been working on a new Joining compound, one that will further enhance one's resistance to the curse and to the doomed call of the gods. This is what will help the evolution of the new species and stop the never-ending battle between the gods and servants."

Loghain angrily shook off the hands of the disciples holding him fast, knowing that if they had truly wanted to hold him in place, they could have done so. He dropped onto his hands and knees and hung his head. Every muscle in his body ached with exhaustion, and some still twitched uncontrollably. Despite his efforts, he could not help his heavy breathing nor the sudden wave of nausea that nearly overtook him. A trail of reddish drool hung from his lips for a moment before breaking free to land on the cold ground beneath him. "Damn you," he whispered, his voice cracking and sounding older than his years. Slowly, Loghain crawled back toward the wall, every movement both weak and excruciating. He turned and rested his back against the cool stone before spitting a small bit of blood from his mouth. "Damn you all to oblivion."

"I am also curious about your Warden Commander. The magic within her makes her an intriguing specimen, but the fact that she is female is also of interest. Would her offspring have an even stronger resistance to the taint? The other females I have observed did not have the Warden Commander's unique traits, so they were not adequate for my purposes." The Architect gave Loghain a knowing look.

The memory of his recent nightmare came rushing to the forefront of Loghain's mind, causing him to shudder slightly in revulsion and anger. He clenched his hands, the fingernails digging painfully into the flesh of his palm. Was the Architect planning on making Lhiannon into some type of broodmother so that he could study her? Loghain felt his teeth clench and the scowl on his face deepen. In his present situation, there was nothing he could do; frustration ate at him, while rage burned him to the core and disgust flowed through his veins like a poison. Fear for Lhiannon made his blood freeze; the dream image of her as a broodmother was so vivid that it seemed real. With every fiber of his being, with every breath unto the last, he would fight to keep her from that fate.

"You can make your threats and fill our dreams with all of the terrors you can imagine," Loghain said, his voice low, but full of all of the disgust that this creature invoked. "Yet, for all of the horror you have bestowed, the Wardens shall never bend; never cooperate of our own free will."

Silence filled the space between them as each held the other's gaze, neither wanting to look away. Loghain willed himself to keep his breathing calm and even; willed himself to remain defiant toward the Architect despite the precariousness of the present circumstances; willed himself to stay alive so that he could fight for Lhiannon and the others, and kill this creature once and for all.

Not breaking eye contact, the Architect motioned toward one of the tainted thralls that stood nearby. A man stepped forward and stopped next to the Architect, his gaze looking toward Loghain, yet it appeared as if the man stared through him; there was no comprehension in his eyes. The Architect took one of his clawed fingers and opened a wound on the thrall's flesh, the dark, tainted blood filling the cut before running in a slow rivulet down his arm.

"I had anticipated that," the Architect said with a voice that sounded strangely resigned.

* * *

_This chapter just kept going on and on... I had to cut it off at this point. The good news is that a big chunk of the next chapter is already outlined and in progress. Hooray! Velanna just took over; since I haven't had to get into her head for a long, long time, she wouldn't let me go until she was done telling me what she wanted to say. Parts of this chapter and the next were written over two years ago, so there's been a lot of catch up between then and now.  
_

_I have so many stories of yours to catch up on as well (I'm looking at you in particular, Shakes and Arsinoe, though there are others too). I'm almost caught up with your stories; I'll review when I'm there. I got a shiny new text-to-voice app for my phone, so I can listen to your stories on my long commute to and from work._

_As for the little one, she's decided that trying to walk at just over nine months of age is perfectly acceptable. I get the feeling that I'll be chasing her around the house at a dead run very shortly. ;)  
_

_Thank you so much to reviewers Oleander's One, Wyl, Shakespira, Arsinoe, skidney, and Suilven. And, thank you to all of you following along; I appreciate you all so very, very much! :)_


	59. Always in Motion is the Future

**_Huge thanks to the awesomeness of Suilven and her lightning fast beta! You are all sorts of awesome (and no saucers were harmed in the writing of this chaper). :p_**

* * *

The day had been pleasant enough on the journey to the handsome villa nestled in the rolling hills outside Val Royeaux, unlike Clotaire's sour mood. He sat back from the window in the grand carriage in which he rode alone, letting the fine curtains fall back into place. The Lady had summoned him to her villa, no doubt to discuss things that could not be done so discreetly within the walls of the capital. It was likely that she wanted to speak about matters of a political nature, while it was religious matters that concerned _him_ more at the moment. He knew that it was of little consequence; it was often difficult to tell where one ended and the other began when one spent enough time in the capital. He would have his say, one way or another, during this meeting.

While he would not normally have wasted an entire thought on the barbarians to the south, they were beginning to occupy more and more of his thoughts; he was not alone, either. There had been an indignant buzz through the cathedral, where numerous discussions had taken place in recent days behind closed doors. Normally, such private discussions would not reach the ears of the mundane faithful, but a discreet contact within an inner circle of the Templar Order was more than willing to share information for a small amount of incentive that Clotaire was more than happy to provide. Soon enough, though, the faithful among the populace would seek answers from, and action against, those that they saw as heretics. He, too, would need to carry the mantle of righteousness. His belief was strong and, with the Maker as his sword and shield, he would prevail.

His thoughts about the Grey Wardens of Ferelden eventually led to his brother. What had his family gotten Jean-René into? The Grey Wardens were soldiers of might and legend, favored by the Maker, were they not? They were the ones who had found a way to destroy the old gods; so then, why did they allow such unsavory wretches in their ranks? The Maker's wrath would surely fall upon them eventually for harboring such creatures of sin. There had to be a way to save Jean-René's soul from the damnation that the Grey Wardens would bring upon him.

He rested his head back against the richly upholstered seat and closed his eyes as he sought to calm his thoughts.

_Though all before me is shadow,_

_Yet shall the Maker be my guide…_

Clotaire was jolted out of a light sleep a short time later by the sound of voices outside. The scent of wildflowers mixed with the salt of the nearby Waking Sea filled the carriage, and the slight squeal of a metal gate opening signaled to Clotaire that he was entering the Lady's estate. He sat up, blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and waited for the driver to stop the carriage and open the door. When it opened, a household servant stood at the bottom of the carriage's step, ready to escort him into the estate.

Rather than going into the manor itself, the servant led Clotaire through the lush gardens behind it to an orangery, one of only a few that Clotaire had seen up close. Wood and glass walls rose from within a ring of precisely manicured shrubs. Strands of ivy wound up the corners of the building, but had been trimmed away from the glass in order to keep the sunlight strong on cool days. Inside, the delicate scent of citrus trees wafted in the air, a testament to the gardeners' efforts to keep the fragile plants alive during the coldest parts of the year. He would have to commission one for the Alune estate.

Lady Mantillon sat on an ornate carved chair—one could almost describe it as a small throne. She wore a fine mask, one likely commissioned from one of Val Royeaux's finest artisans. Unlike the simple, mass produced masks that many of the minor nobles or citizens wore, this mask was custom fit to her features, no doubt secured by fine silk ribbons woven into her elaborately styled hair. It was gold in color and swept up past her temples and down her cheeks, ending in points just below her jaw line. Raised gold vines curled and twisted over the surface of the mask, with green leaves made of small emeralds and flower buds of red rubies. The parts of her face that were visible—a small section of her forehead, her mouth, and chin—were powdered, painted, and perfumed. Her skin was a porcelain white, her lips painted a lush pink; even with the pains she had taken, her years still showed in the lines that etched the skin of her face and neck.

Joining the Lady in the orangery was the Grey Warden, Rolande, who looked pointedly at Clotaire; he was likely pleased to have arrived before the nobleman, yet annoyed that he had to wait for his arrival before whatever business that brought them all here could be conducted.

"Lord Alune, I am glad to see you well," Lady Mantillon said, her voice full of the regal arrogance customary to one of her station. "With the lateness of your arrival, I was concerned that you had found misfortune on the journey here. Since, however, you and your entourage are unharmed, I will simply assume that you were mistaken on the time." She turned her attention to the other man, not waiting to see Clotaire's reaction. Let him wonder just how annoyed she was at his tardiness. He needed her particular services and expertise far more than she needed his compensation for said services. "How fares your Grey Warden matters? I trust they go well?"

Rolande fought to keep from snorting his frustration aloud. "I am not pleased, Lady. A summons was sent to Ferelden, commanding that those who defeated the archdemon present themselves for a debriefing. There are certain… procedures… that must be followed in these situations."

"And have you received a response?"

"Yes, and they claim that other affairs beg their attention before any debriefing can take place."

What Rolande said was true enough, but there was also much more than just procedure involved in the debriefing. There were more questions than answers regarding the Blight, which both concerned and angered him. There was the question of why his summons had been put off by the Fereldan Wardens. As Second Warden of Weisshaupt, he was not accustomed to those under him ignoring or countermanding his orders. He knew from a source within Ferelden that his second, more strongly worded, summons had indeed arrived at the Warden's stronghold in Amaranthine, but that the Warden Commander and her entourage had left for the capital and points beyond just before its arrival. It was Rolande's opinion that she should have immediately changed her plans and come to Orlais, as bidden, instead of traipsing about in the south. Others could have dealt with the darkspawn and the Thaw.

There was more than just a lack of a favorable reply that irked Rolande. If the stories coming from Ferelden were true—and he had little reason to believe that they were not—there could be more to worry about. The fact that the Warden who had killed the archdemon still lived was worrisome. It was no secret within the Grey Wardens that one was sacrificed when an archdemon was killed; what was not widely known were the discussions and theories from both recent times and ages past about situations where the Warden might not die. After all, the archives in Weisshaupt contained writings detailing such theories, and at least one documented attempt to see if it might be possible to kill an archdemon without a sacrifice. There was even one plan—which was nixed as too dangerous—that had called for an expedition to the prisons of one of the old gods, resurrecting it under controlled circumstances and destroying it right away. Few knew of such documents; only those high in the Warden echelon even had access to those items. Rolande, of course, did.

Rolande was as Andrastian as any other man—when circumstances required, after all—but he had wondered on more than one occasion why the bloody Maker had imprisoned the old gods under the lands of those who worshipped them. It was as if the Maker Himself had set His children up for failure from the very beginning, leaving such a great temptation and danger under their feet. There was an entire world to imprison them under if He'd wished to keep them as some sort of divine trophy; it would have made more sense to imprison them as far away from their worshippers as possible, if the Maker had truly wanted His creations to worship only Him.

He felt his brow furrow as he thought of the old gods. Could the soul of the recently vanquished old god be _somewhere_, lying in wait to return and visit vengeance on them all? Could the mage have somehow found a way to trap the soul using forbidden magic? Or, were the old tales and history no longer relevant? He did not know, but his instincts told him that something was amiss, and the mage likely had the answers he sought.

Even if she had done the impossible, the fact that the vanquisher of the Blight was a Fereldan was an offense to Rolande's Orlesian sensibilities. One could take the man from Orlais, but one could not take the Orlais from the man. He was old enough to remember the Fereldan rebellion as a young man, to remember the stunning defeats at the hand of their young prince and his brash commoner dog; could remember the reports of how they had mounted Orlesian heads on pikes and bastardized the honor of the chevaliers, who had returned home in disgrace.

There was also the question of the disappearance of the Orlesian Wardens sent to the Wardens' arling of Amaranthine. He knew from Mistress Woolsey's precise and impartial reports that they had been attacked and killed by bands of darkspawn led by a small number of the sentient creatures; but, he wanted to know why the Fereldans had waited to send their own to the fortress, rather than dispatching them right away. Had they known something?

"If your subordinates vex you so," the Lady said, her voice carrying a bit of frosty impatience, "perhaps you should escort them personally."

Rolande did not hold back the scoff that had welled up inside him. "I will not take time away from what may be my last trip home to travel south."

The Lady gave Clotaire a look before returning her attention to Rolande. "Then, might I suggest sending one of your subordinates? Perhaps, the Warden Commander of Orlais? You have spoken before of your frustration with him; perhaps some time away from Orlais will suit you both well."

It was a thought. Rolande quickly turned the idea over in his mind. Sending Jean-René to Ferelden would be one way to ensure that Rolande's will with the Wardens was done. He and Clotaire had, after all, argued recently about Jean-René and how he was becoming more obstinate toward both of them, placing his duty as a Warden above his inborn duty as an Orlesian. Perhaps putting some distance between them all would be for the best.

Clotaire, however, wore a curious expression on his face. To Rolande, it looked conflicted, as if Clotaire was not sure if he agreed with the Lady's suggestion or not. Irritation rippled through Rolande's mind; Clotaire needed to ensure that his brother would provide the Wardens' support when required, or he needed to be set aside for someone who could; sending his brother on this errand would suit their purposes well, but Clotaire looked as if sending his brother to Ferelden would be akin to permanent, uncivilized exile. Rolande could not understand how Clotaire could berate his brother on one hand, yet be protective on the other. Clotaire could not have things both ways if he truly wished to further his interests.

An idea occurred to Rolande in that instant. Perhaps _he _could resolve the conflict between the Alune brothers, for good. It would have to be done carefully... discreetly. For all of Clotaire's smug, elitist, and righteous demeanor, he was a powerful ally within the Imperial nobility. With his Calling likely coming sooner rather than later, Rolande needed to ensure his legacy and his family's security. In that respect, Clotaire was correct in that he could be a powerful benefactor to his survivors. It would be easy enough to explain to the Wardens that Jean-René's Calling had come. As for Clotaire, he knew that the Grey Wardens frequently fought in the Deep Roads and often did not return. Would it work, though? Was the risk too great?

"The Fereldan Grey Wardens need to answer for their atrocities against the Maker as they answer your questions," Clotaire said, pulling a parchment from his doublet. "One of my retainers has returned from Ferelden with this account of what transpired at their latest Landsmeet. Not only has their King-a Grey Warden, need I remind you-given land to heathen elves, but has also decreed that a new Circle of Magi be established with minimal oversight from the Templar Order and Chantry. I have spoken to a templar who bore witness to this travesty, and have spoken to those directly affected. It is an outrage, and dangerously close to our lands."

Clotaire turned to Rolande and leveled an accusatory finger. "The Grey Wardens of Ferelden harbor and give succor to abominations and heathens! Their commander has surely practiced some sort of witchcraft, whispered poison into the King and Queen's ears to persuade them to do her bidding. She is worshipped as a national hero. The whole lot of them need to be reminded of the Maker's law and will. You must stop this heresy, Second Warden; you should be the Maker's warriors, since you are charged with defeating those that defiled His Golden City. Instead, they hide war criminals, apostates, and maleficars. Perhaps a Rite of Annulment should be performed in all of your ranks!"

Rolande took two long strides to where Clotaire stood, standing nearly nose to nose with the nobleman. "Be mindful of what you say, _my lord_. Had the Grey Wardens not found a way to defeat the darkspawn in ages past, we would likely not be here for you to proselytize to. You should take care in what you say, lest one day you find your tongue removed from your head."

Rolande watched as Clotaire's eyes first grew wide, then narrowed dangerously. They were at a precipice, neither wanting to back down and show weakness in the face of the other or in front of Lady Mantillon. If Clotaire had an issue with the Fereldans, that was one thing; Rolande would not allow him to make such broad accusations against good, Orlesian Wardens.

A quiet clearing of a throat drew their attention to Lady Mantillon. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, yes? Perhaps you should remember that. Unless you wish me to settle arguments for you?"

Both men were silent, their attention fixed on Lady Mantillon. When the silence stretched for longer than was comfortable, she spoke, satisfied that her point had been made. "Lord Alune, I understand that a tragedy befell the DuPuis family recently."

"Truly unfortunate, My Lady," Clotaire agreed.

"It is also my understanding that it was a Crow that had a part in this unfortunate circumstance."

"Indeed?" Clotaire said. Lady Mantillon thought that his voice contained a bit of wariness, which Rolande apparently found amusing, judging by the small upward twitch of his lips; the Lady was unconvinced.

"Henri's new plaything has given me pause. I do not often question the decisions of whomever agents recruit; fools are culled quickly from the ranks, leaving the most clever and resourceful to thrive. Failure is the reward of the weak." Lady Mantillon paused briefly; her mask hid most of her expression, but her eyes did not lie... she was angry. "However, this new recruit concerns me. The Crows are competition, albeit inferior, and I do not wish for them to gain any further foothold here. They ply their craft for money; their allegiance and loyalty last only as long as the contract; they do not truly understand us. Shadows seek to advance the goals and ideals of the Empire; our loyalty is, ultimately, tied to the Empire itself. Our failure is the Empire's failure."

Lady Mantillon paused for a moment, reaching to the glass topped table next to her. She picked up a fine teacup and saucer and took a delicate sip. Though she appeared to be absorbed in her drink, her attention never left the nobleman before her.

"Did you know, Lord Alune, that Henri's elf had contracts that put him into close contact with the very person who has offended you and your allies? I will not tolerate the incompetence of fools."

Clotaire felt his stomach drop as his ire rose. He had trusted Henri and his compatriots to further his interests—in which Henri had—but, to discover that that knife-eared ingrate had traveled with the Fereldan witch...

His own incompetence tasted sour in his mouth. Clearly, he needed to exercise more caution in playing his part of the Game. He would need to pray for guidance... and mete out punishment. The Maker was obviously not pleased with events; Clotaire would need to return to the cathedral and listen to the small voice inside him; the Maker would show him the way.

As if reading his thoughts, Lady Mantillon spoke. "The fault is not yours alone; I, too, ultimately bear responsibility. Fortunately, this situation can be rectified."

"What would you have done, Lady?" Rolande asked, secretly pleased that the nobleman was discovering that he was not nearly as clever as he'd thought.

The Lady snapped her fingers. At the sound, two figures detached themselves from the shadows on the southern wall of the orangery. They stepped forward, dressed in dark clothing and faces partially obscured by deep hoods. They bowed to the Lady and waited for her instructions.

"Bring Henri and his cell—including the plaything—to me."

* * *

Lady Mantillon dismissed her two guests shortly after sending her personal agents off to do her bidding. She closed her eyes briefly, seeking to rest for a few moments before her next guests arrived. She inhaled slowly and deeply, the aromas of tea and citrus oil rejuvenating her. There were always fools to test her patience; the Game seemed to draw them from all corners of the Empire, those who thought that they could play the game better than others around them. Fools, all of them.

Footsteps sounded on the cobblestone pathway outside the orangery. There were three distinct sets; one was the servant who had shown Clotaire and Rolande to her earlier. A second set was heavier... a man. The third set was light, delicate... the steps of one who had had some training. Lady Mantillon snorted lightly; yes, she was surely surrounded by fools who thought that they could play the Game better than everyone else. It was a wonder that the Empire still stood with such people seemingly everywhere; a wonder that they had not devolved into civil war. Lady Mantillon sighed lightly; civil war could still happen.

Unfortunately, these approaching fools had strong supporters within the nobility, supporters who wished to restore the glory of the Blessed Age. Lady Mantillon, too, wanted to restore such glory, but it had to be done slowly, carefully; others, however, thought that the Empire did not move quickly enough, and their voices and the drumbeat of war that accompanied them grew with each passing day. Recent events throughout Thedas had been a blow to a number of carefully laid plans. Now, alternate plans had to be implemented, which angered a number of the impatient elite. Thankfully, Clotaire Alune had been swayed by playing upon his fears. He was not the only one who could have such fears played upon; there were others whose fears were far easier to manipulate, especially when recent events were considered.

All of the pieces were falling into place nicely, despite small setbacks here and there.

"Greetings, Lady Mantillon. _J'espère que vous êtes bien_."

She opened her eyes, meeting the gaze of the man before her. His spoken Orlesian was improving but his Fereldan accent was still pronounced. It was fortunate that his wife was a native speaker and was likely schooling him often. Before Lady Mantillon could reply, the man's wife spoke in her shrill voice.

"Have the templars embarked? I should like to see Fereldan set to rights for me and my husband before I die."

A finely groomed and perfumed brow rose behind Lady Mantillon's mask. Yes, fools indeed... but even fools had their uses.

* * *

Cold.

The chill was the first thing Lhiannon became aware of, its clammy tendrils twisting through the haze in her mind. Her thoughts felt sluggish, as if she could not form coherent thoughts or the words to express them. It was as if her mana had been drained but, to her recollection, it had not been. Then again, there was little from recent memory that she _could_ recall. Her mind's eye turned inward, seeking...

Behind her eyelids there was a bright flash, like lightning without thunder. Yes, there had been a blinding light in the darkness. She had fallen hard, had seen Sigrun collapse with the bulk of Oghren landing on her. Her mind's eye grew dim again, with only shadowy figures and garbled voices emerging from the darkness of her memory. The sensation of a dull ache came forth and made Lhiannon's left shoulder pound in time with every beat of her heart. The pain emanated from deep within the joint; she remembered a shadow yanking on her arm as it had dragged her across the rough ground. The movement had been halting, with each jerk of her arm pulling painfully on the tissues inside. No doubt, the weight of her armor had not helped.

_Looks like I'll have to take the armor to Wade and Herren... get the scrapes out..._

The maddening crawl of the taint in her blood was the next sensation that she became aware of. It had started as a distant tickle in her fingers, a pins-and-needles prickle that she had always hated even before her Joining. The feeling had spread through her within moments, ebbing and flowing with each heartbeat, nearly suffocating in its intensity. It was impossible to determine which of the Wardens—if any—were nearby; the presence of tainted creatures around her was too great to discern any individuals amongst it. Her mind's eye turned inward once more, seeking to quiet the overwhelming sense of taint while trying to discern one tainted individual in particular. No matter how much or hard she tried, she could not sense Loghain, and the dread that followed the realization quickly filled her. Where was he? Had he been hurt? Was he still alive? A low sob escaped her at the thought. She then tried to sense the others, but they, too, were lost somewhere in the sea of corruption.

Another flash suddenly filled the space that her mind's eye explored, and a new memory began to surface.

_Warden Commander, this will be the last time you are given the opportunity to cooperate willingly. If you refuse me, I will go forward with my work. Be sensible; convince your Wardens to help._

_Fuck you. Fuck you and your experiments. Fuck you and your so-called gift. _

_So be it, Warden Commander._

The recollection served to jerk Lhiannon into full awareness, the cloudy remnants of magical sleep beginning to fade from within her mind. She groaned and shivered violently as her skin broke out in gooseflesh and the rough ropes of her bonds rubbed against her wrists and ankles. She had not been surprised to find herself bound; he had done it before, when he and his minions had first come upon the Wardens to try and win their support. But, even so, the situation made her stomach roll in fright. The Architect was going to be true to his word, force her to become part of whatever scheme he was looking to unleash. It also meant that he would try to force Loghain—or the other Wardens—to participate as well. A lump formed in her throat at that; there was a part of her that whispered that she had failed them, that her lack of ability had caused them to fall into the Architect's grasp and become part of the horrors that he wanted to unleash on the surface of Thedas.

What could she have done differently? She had tried to kill the creature and his dwarven minion in the ancient ruins under Amaranthine. Should she have taken the Wardens and pursued them right away, rather than focusing on rebuilding Amaranthine? Or traveling to Denerim? Or, even marrying Loghain? Should she have put out a general call for recruitment to build an army of Wardens to flush him and his followers out? Should she have sent word to Orzammar and the Legion of the Dead?

The sound of footsteps made Lhiannon open her eyes. She first looked toward the ceiling above; the shadows around her made the rough surface nearly indistinguishable. A dim red light moved about the room which, after several moments, Lhiannon could discern was a laboratory of some type; her stomach rolled at the realization and a cold feeling of dread enveloped her. A stone niche full of books was just within her vision as the red light bobbed by it, the names of the tomes hidden in the gloom. The other side of the room was lost to the darkness, but Lhiannon could sense a degree of openness there, as if the space was fairly large.

The bobbing red light eventually became still. The Architect rested his glowing staff against a tabletop that was cut from the stone. He turned toward her and waved a hand; an orange glowstone came to life nearby. In the light, Lhiannon could see that he held a vial in one hand. From the shadows nearby, the form of the dwarf, Utha, stepped forward, her skin ashy and stretched tightly across the muscles and bone beneath it. She held a rough cylinder of metal in her hands. It caught the wan light and shimmered slightly; Lhiannon thought it looked like a dwarven candlestick, forged from the metals they had found within the earth. The Architect approached from her left, while Utha moved in from her right. Lhiannon tried to twist away as best she could and fought against the bonds that held her wrists together and ankles apart.

The Architect reached for her and her chin with a bony, strong hand. She thrashed her head in an attempt to dislodge him, yet he easily forced her to turn her face upright. Before she could react, Utha's hands appeared from above her and thrust the rod sideways into her mouth. The metal cracked against her teeth, several small pieces of bone landing on her tongue. The tang of the metal filled Lhiannon's mouth as she cried out in pain and surprise. The throbbing in her face increased as Utha held the metal firmly in place. She attempted to turn her head and use her tongue to dislodge the object, but Utha pressed it down more firmly, pinning her head in place. Her eyes went wide as the Architect raised the vial to her face and poured the contents into her mouth.

At first, it was the iron tang of blood and the rotten taste of taint that filled her mouth as Utha withdrew the candlestick. Within the span of a heartbeat, Lhiannon's mouth and throat felt like they had both caught fire and were being stung by a multitude of wasps. Several fat drops of blood flew from her mouth as she choked and sputtered, disappearing into the darkness. Her muscles began to convulse, twisting and clenching within her as if they themselves had come alive. Her body arched against the ropes holding her fast, the stinging sensation moving through her chest, her torso, her limbs. Her lungs felt as if they had forgotten how to breathe.

"This will increase your resistance to the taint. From that, I will use your blood to further improve my Joining compound. Your inherent abilities as a mage could help make your blood stronger than that of an ordinary Warden. Alas, you may still succumb to the taint if you should survive long enough; it will likely waste your body away, in time. I shall have to study the circumstances."

Lhiannon could not have responded if she had tried, as her body was still wracked by convulsions. Her lungs had remembered to breathe, but each breath was shallow, halting, and accompanied by a sharp spike of pain. Her voice felt as if it had left her completely, with only a faint huffing sound coming from her as she attempted to speak. The Architect seemed to sense this and continued on.

"I am concerned that there will be diminishing returns by using your blood or the blood of your companions. What I need is a natural joining of resistant bloodlines; your Second Warden may help in this aspect but, if not, I may need to use the male mage. His blood and yours would be a study worth undertaking. It is worth consideration. "

The creature turned away and grabbed his staff. He motioned to Utha and they moved on, leaving the room and Lhiannon in the dim light of the glowstone. Hot tears burned in her eyes as the piercing pain within her began to fade to a dull throb. She turned her head into the crook of one outstretched arm, sobbing quietly into the flesh. Her chest ached with each sob, and the muscles of her body protested with the slightest movement. Despair was a crushing weight on her chest, a mantra of hopelessness in her soul.

_Failed them… my fault… I failed them… what will my failure doom us to?_

Eventually, her tears began to subside, leaving behind a raw ache in her throat. It was not that she had run out of tears, but that shedding them was exhausting. She lay on the stone slab, her gaze toward the ceiling; not looking at it, but through it. The droning buzz of the taint was still within her, its presence dulling her senses as it continued on. She stared at the ceiling for some time as the drone became her entire existence; not even guessing how much time had passed when a familiar ripple within the taint brushed the back of her mind. The taint had numbed her senses, yet she examined the new sensation dully, an action that was more habitual or instinctual rather than a conscious choice. Whoever it was, they were close; to be able to discern familiarity amongst the mass of tainted beings implied close proximity.

She turned her head and whimpered when a stabbing pain ran through her skull. There must have been dried blood and who knew what else on her face, as she felt the skin pull slightly as she moved. Her eyes opened, the remnants of sticky tears causing her vision to double. She blinked several times and hoped that the gesture would help her to see. It would be so much better to simply rub her eyes, but that was impossible. When her vision cleared, the dim light revealed Loghain standing against the wall. His expression was blank, as if he was looking through her rather than at her. He was disheveled, bruised, and bloodied. A sense of hope washed over her at seeing him in the flesh. He was alive!

"Loghain," she rasped, her voice scratchy and broken. Her throat ached with the effort of speaking. "You… you're all right… help me... before the Architect... or Utha… return."

He did not move.

* * *

_This chapter was written, literally, one paragraph at a time during lunch hours and chasing a now walking baby around (not to mention a family reunion, a business trip, mommy being sick for four days, and Baby's double ear infection). Those stubborn Orlesians simply refused to speak with me for some time (it must be their "superior" attitudes). They kicked and screamed the entire time; I finally got them to behave. Then, I had issues with thinking up a title for the chapter. Since there are various references to the future in the chapter (Rolande's thoughts, the Architect's musing, Lhiannon's anxiety), I had the Yoda quote pop into my head. It worked, so I went with it. I love me some Star Wars.  
_

_I also want to give you a heads up that there will be some violence in the upcoming chapters. Fair warning. ;)_

_Oodles of thanks to reviewers Skidney, Arsinoe, Wyl, Shakespira, Oleander's One, TheWatcher4, and Suilven. You all are awesome! A big thanks to those of you in the background who follow the story. I appreciate all of your support! :)_


	60. Closer to the Edge

**_Big thanks to Suilven for her big beta stick, thoughts, and encouragement. As the baby's favorite cartoon characters (the Bubble Guppies) would say: "you totally rock!"_**

**_Note: while there isn't a large degree physical violence in this chapter, there is some dark imagery in the second half of it._**

* * *

"Yes!"

Nathaniel could not help the smirk that pulled on his lips as his sister Warden Raelyn danced a little jig next to him. She pumped her fist—and the training bow held in it—into the air with glee. Across the training yard, a target yielded a single arrow, decidedly off center, but better than the other arrows scattered in the ground around and beyond it.

"You're rather celebratory for hitting the target just once."

A light-hearted, feminine scoff was promptly followed by a quirked grin. "And what's wrong with a little celebration?"

"One would think that you killed a great stag with all that celebrating."

Raelyn pointed to the target with a gloved hand. "With all of the arrows that didn't make the target, I'll celebrate the one that does, thank you very much. Speaking of… thank you, by the way, for having the patience to teach me archery."

"Archery requires aim and focus. With it, you can be even more accurate with your spells, which your allies will certainly appreciate. After all, no one likes being caught up in a spell inadvertently. Not that your casting is inaccurate, but there's always room for improvement." Nathaniel nodded. "It's a good reason to learn how to handle a bow. That, and mana isn't infinite; this will help you to continue the fight even if your mana runs out." He pointed to the bow. "It's a shame that the Circle doesn't use archery as a means to teach greater accuracy."

Another scoff, this one with a hint of anger simmering beneath the surface. "Are you joking? The last thing most templars want is an armed mage, or one that knows how to use a weapon." _And_, she thought to herself, _I will never fall prey to a templar again. I will never submit without a fight. I will protect myself by any means necessary. _

Nathaniel shrugged. "Most likely not."

"Pardon me, Warden Nathaniel, but do you have a moment?"

Nathaniel and Raelyn turned toward the voice that approached them from behind. Varel walked with his usual determined gait, but Nathaniel could see that the worry lines in his forehead looked deeper than usual. As the seneschal stopped before them, Nathaniel turned toward Raelyn and told her to continue practicing. Whatever it was that Varel wished to say, Nathaniel thought it best to hear it in private first. With a motion of his hand, Nathaniel beckoned Varel toward one of the rear doors of the Vigil. They stepped inside, ducking into a small storeroom that housed training supplies for the yard.

Varel set himself, hands clasped behind his back, once he had closed the door behind them. "Warden, one of the Vigil's runners has just returned from Amaranthine. He said that a merchant ship, the _Sword of Mercy,_ has docked."

Leaning back against the cool stone of the storeroom, Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest. "That ship has docked here before; it usually ferries goods and passengers between Ferelden and the Free Marches. I sailed on that ship myself. What is so unusual about it arriving now?"

"In and of itself, very little," Varel agreed, "but, how often has it had a number of templars disembark?"

"Again, not that unusual. Templars _do_ travel," Nathaniel said. One of his brows quirked upward. "Are you sure your runner didn't stop at one of the dockside taverns and have a liquid lunch before attending to his duties? And how many templars does 'a number' constitute? One? Ten? Fifty?"

"The ship carried _only_ templars and their provisions, enough for an extended stay or a large expedition. They were heavily armed, and heavily armored."

Nathaniel thought it was curious, though he remained unconvinced. It was possible that the templars were in some sort of duty rotation, or perhaps preparing for one of their maleficar hunts in the far south. Curious, indeed, but not particularly alarming in and of itself. There were no laws prohibiting templars from traveling where they pleased.

Varel, however, was not known for overly dramatic displays of concern. If Varel was concerned—and judging by the still prominent worry lies on his face, he was—then it certainly would not hurt to give due consideration to the matter. If the templars had business in the arling, it would not hurt to find out what it was; and, if it was nothing, then that would be the end of it. "Summon the runner to the Warden Commander's office. Let him tell me his story."

* * *

Slowly, but surely, the scars that had nearly overtaken Amaranthine were healing. Even from the limited view from the windows of the carriage, the progress was easy to see. Nathaniel felt a stirring of pride within him at the rebirth of the city; the people of the north were resolute and spirited, determined to rebuild the city in defiance of the darkspawn that had nearly destroyed it. They, and the city, would be stronger for it.

He was not alone in his ruminations on the city. Mistress Woolsey had accompanied him on this trip; she had an appointment with the Merchants' Guild to discuss the development of the merchants' quarter within the city. Nathaniel knew that she was worried about the arling's finances and how much the repairs to the Wardens' domain were draining the coffers. There would be support from Denerim and Ferelden as a whole, but the Blight had left many destitute; even the kingdom's coffers had been, and would continue to be, affected. Steady income from the populace was a future hope with the reopening of the trade routes and the return of those who had fled Ferelden; the present was much less secure financially. Her superiors were expecting a report soon, and she wanted to make sure she had the most recent, accurate, and positive report possible.

"I'm hoping that we can find support from both the Merchants' Guild and the Chantry to draw pilgrims to the city," Woolsey said as she, too, watched the city gates grow larger. "Amaranthine's place in history is profound; as the place where Maferath gathered his armies and where Andraste revealed the Chant of Light, we are in a unique position. We must take advantage of it. The more pilgrims the city can draw, the more need for the services of the Guild."

A wry grin crossed Nathaniel's face. Woolsey had certainly been doing some research on her new assignment. "You realize, of course, that the Chantry will want to be properly compensated for the use of this history as a draw for pilgrims... and tourists."

"Of course they will," Woolsey said. Her brows had lifted slightly and Nathaniel thought that he saw a slight quirking of her lips. "I look forward to the challenge of negotiations with them."

Nathaniel gave a light snort; only Mistress Woolsey would find enjoyment from negotiating business with the Guild and Chantry. The Grey Wardens from Weisshaupt had not done much for their Fereldan kin—in Nathaniel's opinion—but sending Woolsey had been a boon. He wondered, however, what Weisshaupt would ask for in return for her services. At this point, it did not matter; Amaranthine had to get on its feet first. He looked outside the carriage once more, observing the repaired walls and gate, and then the new outpost for the city guard just outside the walls at the site of the old smugglers' den.

The house that had concealed the tunnel running beneath the city had been razed and replaced with a small guard shack utilized by the guardsmen on patrol outside. There had been discussions between the Wardens and the city guard about whether it made more sense to fill in the tunnel or keep it for guard use. The space could be used for guard housing or training, or perhaps as storage for extra supplies, or for the citizens if an emergency was declared. It was both a convenient escape route and a genuine weakness in the city's defenses. In the end, it had been decided that the tunnel and its contents were more asset than liability; a guard tower was planned for the other end of the tunnel within the city, high enough to see over the walls and farther out into the countryside, as well as watching the waterway where the Waking Sea met the Amaranthine Ocean.

At the thought of the waterway, Nathaniel's mind turned toward the conversation he had had the day before with Varel and the runner, a young man named Gabe. Gabe had been at the city docks, overlooking the water as was his custom when he had business in the city; the water was a mesmerizing draw for him. He had spotted the ship as it had drawn close to the harbor, the sails on its three masts had been billowed forward as it had caught the breeze that would carry it to the docks. To Gabe, the sight had not been out of the ordinary; even when the first armored men had emerged on deck—to his amusement, since he had never been able to understand why men would wish to wear heavy armor aboard a ship—he had not thought it unusual.

It had been when a number of them had appeared on deck and had begun to disembark that his curiosity had been peaked. Soon after, boxes had begun to appear on deck to be unloaded, each bearing the flaming sword of the Templar Order. They, and the heavily armed men and women, had continued to emerge; Gabe had continued to watch, wondering just how many templars and their provisions had been stowed on the vessel. After another hour of observation, Gabe had decided that the templars and their cargo had been the only items onboard. It had been somewhat unusual, and Gabe had decided that he could mention it to the Seneschal. It was no secret that the Chantry and the Grey Wardens had a strained relationship of late and, since the Grey Wardens were paying his salary, his loyalty was with them.

Once inside the city walls, Nathaniel and Woolsey parted ways after agreeing on a time to return to the Vigil. While Woolsey headed toward the merchant quarter, Nathaniel moved toward the section of the city containing the new guard tower and, incidentally, the chantry of Our Lady Redeemer. With several Joinings planned within the next few days, Nathaniel wanted to make sure he replaced the supplies of lyrium that he would be using, and the best place to get a steady supply of lyrium was from the Formari.

Just to the south of the repaired and refurbished chantry was a small market stall manned by a Formari mage—a middle aged woman named Zarah—and one of the Tranquil assigned to her. The stall was fairly typical of many run by the Formari; it carried amulets, both mundane and those imbued with mystical properties; there were healing draughts and kits to treat injuries, as well as herbs and vials for those that wished to create their own draughts.

In conspicuous view around the mage were several templars, their faces hidden behind the full helmets they wore. Ordinarily, a local templar by the name of Reginald was stationed at the stall. He and Zarah had gotten along well enough from what Nathaniel had seen in the past; today, however, Zarah was accompanied by four of the heavily armed holy warriors. They spoke in low tones from behind the obviously nervous Formari, but Nathaniel could still pick up fragments of their speech; one spoke with a thick Starkhaven brogue, while the others carried the more subtle Kirkwall dialect. The templars fell silent as Nathaniel approached; he could not be sure, but he would not be surprised if they were studying the griffon on his light armor, as well as his features, to report back to their superiors.

"Good day, Warden," Zarah said, her voice more formal than usual. Nathaniel saw that her hands were trembling slightly. He gave her a nod as he pulled a small coin purse from inside his Warden leathers, watching the templars behind her from the corner of his eye.

"Good day to you as well, Zarah. I'd like to purchase four injury kits and four vials of lyrium."

The templars behind the mage stiffened, no less than two of them resting armored hands on the hilts of their weapons. Zarah appeared to wince slightly at the sounds behind her. From their body language, Nathaniel surmised that they had begun to eavesdrop on the conversation in earnest.

Zarah's expression became apologetic. "I... I'm sorry, Warden; I can only sell you two of the lyrium vials. The injury kits are no problem."

Nathaniel kept his face neutral. The Formari had not tried to limit the Wardens' purchases in the past and he was curious as to why they would do so now. Perhaps it had something to do with the templars surrounding her. He sensed that he could end up standing on proverbial thin ice with said templars if he prodded the Formari, so it would be best to not escalate the situation any further than necessary. Still, the question needed to be put forth.

"Might I ask why you can only sell two of them to me now, when it was never an issue before? It is for the Wardens' use."

One of the templars stepped forward, his bulk unceremoniously pushing the woman aside. "It is by the order of Knight Commander Mettin Nedy."

"That doesn't answer my question," Nathaniel said. "Why only two when the Grey Wardens were allowed to purchase what we needed in the past? And who is this Knight Commander Nedy? I do not remember hearing that name in Amaranthine before."

"He has recently arrived from Kirkwall at the directive of the Chantry and the Templar Order," the templar said, his hand still conspicuously grasping the hilt of his sword.

"And is he—or you—to be permanently stationed here?" Nathaniel asked, his voice more frosty than it had been before; he was not about to be intimidated by a man who would not show his face. "I don't remember Seneschal Varel mentioning your arrival, nor has Knight Commander Nedy presented himself to the Arling."

"We need not answer to you. It is the Chantry and the Maker we answer to, as will all on our day of judgment." The templar took a step forward, no doubt in an effort to force Nathaniel to back down. "I would suggest that you take what the Formari will sell you before the lyrium is rationed even further."

Nathaniel calmly watched the eyes hidden behind the full helmet, debating if he should press the issue further. It was likely not wise at this time; the templars could simply refuse to sell him the lyrium if he did so. While there was no shortage of the material at the Vigil, having the closest and most convenient source of it eliminated could cause problems in the future. Despite the urge to continue arguing his point, Nathaniel decided that the prudent action would be to let the templars win this round.

He nodded to Zarah and purchased the injury kits and the two vials of lyrium. It was a shame that the templars had hidden their faces; Nathaniel had most definitely wanted to memorize their features for future reference. Moving off toward the main avenue of the city, he decided that his next stop would be the Merchants' Guild; certainly, if the templars had some sort of general restriction on the sale of lyrium, they might know of it. If not, Nate would have to try and find out why it was just him in particular with the restriction.

It was when he had stopped to purchase a small bit of sausage and cheese that he spotted the small figure following him. Immediately, he recognized her as one of the sisters from Our Lady Redeemer, one that had had an unpleasant conversation with the Warden Commander in the recent past. Nathaniel had not heard the actual conversation himself, but had heard enough of it from Anders—who Lhiannon _had_ told—to understand the basics. Nedra had been tasked by the Chantry representatives to deliver the message that they would not sanction her marriage to Loghain. Nathaniel knew that the Chantry was unhappy with her; that dissatisfaction could have, possibly, been extended to the Grey Wardens themselves. Would they now use the young sister to deliver yet another message?

Nathaniel was not sure but, if they _were_ sending her to deliver a message, why was she apparently sneaking about? Sister Nedra was not wearing her priestly robes but, rather, a simple peasant dress with a cloak around her shoulders and the hood resting on the top of her head. Wisps of her hair peeked out from her hood, giving her an almost childlike appearance. Nathaniel decided to test his theory; he moved through the townsfolk toward the merchants' quarter, walking slow enough that Nedra would not have to rush to keep up, yet could overtake him if she had wanted to. When he reached the grocer's stall, he stopped and began perusing the offerings of fresh and dried herbs, exchanging pleasantries with the woman behind the stall as he did so. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nedra stop at a stall behind him, lightly fingering bolts of cloth as she kept glancing in his general direction.

Yes, she _was_ following him. That made him doubt that she was openly operating on chantry business; but, what if she had been tasked with observing him? If that was the case, she was doing a poor job of it, and he found his curiosity growing. Behind the building where the grocer's stall stood was a small alley and garden; Nathaniel picked up a small bundle of spring berries and paid the smiling merchant before moving off toward the alley as if to relax and eat his meal. He rounded the corner and quickly scanned the area, looking for a place to duck out of sight; and, there it was, between two arborvitae shrubs toward the back. Moving swiftly, he entered the space between them and blended into the shadows.

He waited; it was not long.

Within the span of several heartbeats, Nathaniel watched as a rushed and flustered Sister Nedra rounded the corner and entered the alley. Instinctively, Nathaniel's hand went to the hilt of the dagger on his hip. He nearly scoffed aloud at the absurdity of pulling his dagger on the Sister but, on second thought, he only had to think of Leliana to remember that not all might be as it seemed. Nedra came closer, a look of wariness on her face as she searched the alley. Nathaniel held his breath as she passed the shadows in which he was hidden, another shadow amongst the others. He waited until she had taken several steps past his hiding place, making sure that she was out of reach on the off chance that she had dark motives. Once he felt comfortable with the distance between then, Nathaniel stepped out from between the bushes, letting the shadows around him melt away.

"Are you looking for something?"

Nedra whirled about, a small gasp escaping her as her eyes met Nathaniel's. "Andraste's mercy! Why did you have to frighten me like that?"

He answered with a question of his own. "Why are you following me?"

"I... I saw you speaking to the Formari, looking to buy lyrium. The templars are... well, they're rationing it."

"Why?" Nathaniel asked, brows furrowed as he spoke. "It's no secret that it's a steady source of income for the Chantry. Why limit it, and, thus, funding?"

Nedra looked beyond Nathaniel, apparently watching the entrance to the alley. He began to move cautiously to his left; if Nedra was watching the entrance, he needed to watch it as well. "They're rationing it because there are more on the way. A call has gone out for more templars to come to Ferelden, and for recruitment efforts to increase."

"Why?"

"They're going to Highever to be near the new Circle. They don't like the fact that the mages will have some autonomy. There are rumors swirling about that diabolical forces are at work throughout Ferelden. Those rumors grow by the day." She took a step closer, flicking a glance toward the entrance once more. Her voice was low when she spoke. "The templars you saw with the Formari are from Kirkwall."

Nathaniel nodded. "I thought as much; I recognized the accent. Why didn't they sail directly to Highever? It's a much shorter journey between Kirkwall and Highever than Kirkwall and Amaranthine."

"They're charged with watching the arling... and their journey toward Highever will take them past your compound." Nedra paused, apparently waiting for Nathaniel to react. When he kept his face neutral and voice silent, she continued nervously. "They... they're led by Mettin Nedy, a direct report of the Knight Commander of Kirkwall, Meredith Stannard. Her stance on mages is well known within the Chantry; some think she should be a role model for all templars in the Order."

Nathaniel knew from his time in the Free Marches that the templar order kept a tight rein on the mages in Kirkwall. It was also common knowledge that the templars—_especially_ Meredith Stannard—were the real political power in the city-state. There was little that happened in the city that was not influenced in some way by the Order. A frown pulled at his lips; how much influence did they hope to have on the templars in Ferelden? For that matter, what type of influence were they hoping to impart on the arlings, teyrnirs, or even the Crown itself? The Chantry was a powerful entity, and many people would do what they decreed without question.

Highever... Nathaniel wondered if another ship of templars had already docked in that city in preparation for the new Circle; set roots in that city, as it were. What would Teyrn Cousland do when they landed on his soil? Nathaniel found it likely that they would be there soon, if not already. When he and Woolsey returned to the Vigil, he would send one of the messengers to Highever with an inquiry. It likely would not hurt to send one to Denerim and, possibly, Redcliffe and Gwaren. Perhaps, though, he should send one to the King first, and confer on what the next step should be. This would normally be the Warden Commander's duty, but Nathaniel's instincts whispered at him to not wait. He might be overstepping his authority by acting now; if that turned out to be the case, he would accept whatever admonishment the Commander deemed necessary.

Nathaniel returned his attention to the sister in front of him. She was still clearly nervous, her gaze flitting between him and the entrance to the alley beyond. He doubted that her demeanor was false—if it was, then she was a better performer than perhaps Leliana was—but he still could not fathom why she would seek him out with this information. "Why tell me this, Sister? What do you hope to accomplish?"

Nedra held up her hands in a pleading gesture. "Nothing! It's just..."

"Just what?"

The Sister sighed. "Your Commander—the mage—she's the one that destroyed the archdemon. She saved us all... and I find myself conflicted about it."

"Yes, she did what a Grey Warden must do when a blight befalls the land. Why does that make you conflicted?"

"Well," she began, her hand smoothing her hair in a gesture of embarrassment, "she's a mage and that makes her potentially dangerous. Yet, she used her ability for the greater good. She rules the Grey Wardens, yet shows no sign of becoming a magister..."

Nathaniel bristled loudly enough that Nedra flinched. She stammered nervously. "W-wait! P-please understand, Warden; I have been raised and trained to regard mages in a certain light. It's... strange... to think of mages in different ways."

He thought back to his own experience with Lhiannon for a brief moment. He had first known her as the woman who had murdered his father; a cold-blooded killer who had deserved retribution brought upon her. It was only after he had heard from Delilah about how their father had turned into a power hungry madman that Nathaniel had begun to see his new Commander differently. It was both amusing and fascinating to see how he had gone from wanting to kill Lhiannon to being a trusted member of her Wardens, and how he would defend her place vigorously against her adversaries. Strange, that. He imagined that Nedra was waging a similar battle within her.

"Well, Sister, you'd do well to start thinking of mages, and the Commander, differently. The Crown has given the mages a degree of freedom from oversight. The Commander isn't dangerous, nor is she a magister on the rise. She is simply someone who is performing the duty laid out before her, just like anyone else."

Nedra lowered her hands. "I'm trying to open my mind to that, yet it is contrary to what I have been taught, and what the Chantry continues to teach. I think telling you this is... I don't know..." The sister began to wring her hands together nervously and looked around them once again. "If the Knight Commander or Revered Mother knew I had told you this, they would probably send me off to Aeonar."

"Why would they send you to Aeonar? It isn't as if more templars would go unnoticed in the chantries when services are underway, or when they're browsing in the marketplace."

A young couple, giggling and with hands all over each other, entered the alley. They began to kiss passionately, either unaware of the Grey Warden and chantry sister, or not caring about their presence. Nedra quickly gathered her cloak around her and turned to rush off.

"Wait," Nathaniel called out. He reached forward to grab Nedra, but only succeeded in brushing his finger across her cloak. The lovers broke their kiss, their cheeks flushing as Nedra rushed by. Nathaniel watched Nedra leave with a sense of bewilderment, and more questions than answers.

* * *

Loghain watched as Lhiannon fidgeted on the table before him, pulling at her bonds in an effort to free herself. Her fingers clawed blindly at the ropes binding her wrists, searching for a loose strand or a knot that she could attempt to unravel. There were dark droplets of what he thought was blood on her face and on the dirty shift that only covered part of her; had she been injured, or had the Architect forced his new joining on her as well?

"Maker's breath, Loghain! What are you waiting for, the second coming of Andraste? You… you need to hurry!"

The fear in her eyes and voice were easily discernible, even in the low light. Worse, he could almost smell the sourness of her terror over and above the stink of taint. He had seen her fearful before, but this was different. She was prey caught in the grasp of a predator... and there was no way out that he could see. They had saved each other from injury and death, fought with and for each other, loved each other... but there would be no heroics this day. Loghain was not one to despair, but the feeling grew within him. He feared for both of them and, more importantly, for the life the Architect and his minions wished to create.

With his body usurped, he was unable to vent his frustration, nor able to give her some sort of warning. His foot moved forward, barely off of the ground, making a scraping sound as his body lurched forward and his weight settled on it. His mind screamed at his body, demanded that it stop and obey him. It was as if one invisible hand pushed him from behind and a second pulled him forward. He focused on one foot, his considerable will slowing it, but it still moved inevitably toward her. He tried to speak, to let her know what was happening, but his voice was trapped in his throat.

"Loghain, _please_! You have to _hurry_! Move!"

"He cannot; not unless _I_ command it."

Loghain was helpless as he watched Lhiannon crane her neck toward the sound of a feminine voice. Suddenly, he felt a renewed pull on his blood, compelling him forward. He railed against it, but was rewarded with piercing pain. His blood burned inside him, spreading the pain through his muscles, his nerves, everywhere it flowed through him. The taste of coppery blood filled his mouth as he continued the struggle against the spell. To his horror, the blood passed through his lips to begin a slow dance around him that added to the compulsion. Already, he could feel his stamina beginning to fade. How much longer he could resist was unknown, but one thing was certain: it would not be long.

* * *

Lhiannon could not understand why Loghain was acting so strangely. Was he injured? She saw what looked like dried blood on his face, so she thought it was possible. He did not seem to share a sense of urgency, which left Lhiannon confused. He _must_ have been injured to be moving so sluggishly. The feeling of something very wrong hung on him like a cloak.

"Loghain, _please_! You have to _hurry_! Move!"

The voice that replied from the darkness made her tainted blood run cold.

"He cannot; not unless _I_ command it."

Lhiannon twisted her head toward the sound of the voice; a familiar, shrill voice with a strange raspy undertone. From the darkness beyond, several figures emerged: the Architect, with glowing staff in hand; the elf, Seranni; her body misshapen and ashy. Lastly, Velanna entered, who led several humans that could only be described as tainted blood thralls. One of them was bleeding from several wounds on her arm, her eyes distant and unfocused. The other humans were male; they stood near Velanna, silent and seemingly oblivious to the world around them. All Lhiannon could do was stare, not believing what she saw.

Velanna and the bleeding woman moved to stand near Loghain. As they drew closer and into the stronger light, Lhiannon could see Velanna's hand moving as she drew blood from the thrall's wounds. It moved in writhing tentacles through the air, where it joined the blood that had oozed from Loghain's nose and mouth in a sinister dance around him. Realization dawned on Lhiannon as to why Loghain had not moved to release her.

"Commander, I know you disapprove of your Wardens using blood magic unless... what was it you had said... 'absolutely necessary'? Well, I think that this situation qualifies."

Stunned, Lhiannon felt her mouth drop open as she looked at the Grey Warden before her. The disbelieving fog in her mind began to fade and her thoughts began to flow once more. Velanna was recognizable, but it was clear that the taint was progressing rapidly within her, making her appear more ghoul than elven. Had the Architect somehow advanced her taint? From the speed at which it was progressing—and under 'normal' circumstances, if the taint within the Wardens could be considered normal—she likely should have experienced her Calling by now. Of course, these circumstances were far from normal.

After a few moments of her mouth working in an attempt to speak, Lhiannon found her voice. "Why, Velanna? Why would you do this?"

"Are you truly that ignorant?" Velanna said, her lips curled into a sneer. "I asked you to find my sister and you refused. I took it upon myself to find her and, in doing so, found my ally in the Architect. For our assistance, he has promised the _elvhen_ our own homeland, free of corruption and, more importantly, _shemlen_s and those who ally with them. He will end the call of the old gods, and the _elvhen_ will be free. Cooperation will obtain both goals." She paused for a moment and, in doing so, beckoned to the dimly lit doorway. A subtle shift in the taint alerted Lhiannon as to who was approaching just before she entered the room.

Anwen.

A whimper left Lhiannon's lips as the elf came to stand near Velanna. There was a look of grim determination on her face but, beneath that, there was something else that Lhiannon could not place. "Why, Anwen?"

"Because the opportunity for the People to have a home of their own is too great an opportunity to let pass," the elf said, her voice low and melancholy. "My apologies, Commander, but…" Her voice trailed off, lost to the gloom. She looked away from Lhiannon into the darkness beyond.

"Velanna, please," Lhiannon said, her voice taking on a hint of desperation, "don't do this. You know that the Architect can't be trusted—"

"And _you_ can?"

"He's only looking to forward his own agenda… you must know that he can't guarantee the safety of your people! The Taint _will_ spread; by the time those that are infected show signs, it will be far too late." A lump threatened to form in Lhiannon's throat, which burned from her attempts to stave it off. "It's not too late, Velanna—"

The elf slashed a hand through the air, momentarily breaking the blood control on Loghain. "It _is_ too late, _shemlen_!"

Loghain turned to face the elf, his steps unsteady as he started to move toward her. Each step appeared stronger than the last, the distance between him and his captor closing with each step.

Lhiannon reared up on the table as far as she could. "Fight, Loghain!" she shouted. "Keep fighting it!"

With a shaking hand, Loghain thrust his fist toward Velanna. He was still unsteady on his feet, which allowed the elf to easily duck out of the way and slash out at Loghain's leg. Before Loghain could attack again, Velanna quickly recast the spell, using Loghain's own blood to regain control. Loghain groaned, staggered, and nearly fell before he turned unsteadily toward Lhiannon once more. Lhiannon gasped as Loghain's eyes rolled back into his head as he took several jerky steps toward her, quickly closing the distance between them. Blood began to pour from his nose, followed by a trickle from the corner of his mouth. His trousers were turning red from where Velanna had slashed him on the leg. The blood rose from him in a fine mist, a miasmic fog that swirled around his shuddering figure.

"_No_!" Lhiannon screamed, her voice shrill with terror. "Let him go!"

Seranni scoffed from where she stood and waved a hand toward Lhiannon. "Why can't we just cast the spell on her, too? It would make things go so much easier. And quieter."

The Architect's maddeningly calm voice pierced Lhiannon's terror. "The Warden Commander's magical aptitude makes such a spell inherently difficult to maintain." He waved a hand toward Loghain. "The Second Warden, while possessing considerable will, does not have the special qualities that a mage has. Nevertheless, there are ways to compel the Warden Commander."

With a wave of his gnarled hand and a few spoken words, writhing magical roots burst forth from the ground. They wrapped themselves around Lhiannon's limbs and torso, immobilizing them. She screamed over and over again, her voice becoming raspy and raw as she vented her terror and anger.

"Velanna has been an apt teacher as well as a prodigious student," the Architect said, ignoring Lhiannon's outburst. "She has taken to my work with a relish I have not seen in some time."

As Lhiannon shrieked and sobbed, Anwen took a tentative step backwards. "No," she said, her head slowly shaking in the process. "This... this can't be right. This is... madness... You said that the _shemlen_s would be made to assist you, but I... I didn't think you meant like this..."

"Be still, Anwen," Velanna said, her gaze flitting back and forth between the screaming woman, the encroaching Warden, and the wary _elvhen_. "This will be over in moments; then, you and I can begin planning for our eventual move to our new home."

"But, will the Creators favor us after... this? _Shemlen_s have wronged us and deserve punishment, but, this... this is beneath us as _elvhen_."

"This is what they _deserve_!"

"The _elvhen_ should be above torture! It is one thing to speak of it in passing with other _elvhen_; this makes us no better than them... and we _are_ better than them. I will not take part in torture," Anwen said as she took another small step backwards. Loghain's body hitched as Velanna's concentration wavered slightly at the other elf's hesitation. She cursed under her breath and slashed at the arm of another thrall to quickly regain control.

"You can't back away now," Seranni said as she stepped between Anwen and the doorway beyond. "We are the roots of a new clan, strong as we grip the promised soil of our new home. You are a part of this now. We deserve a home and will take it by any means necessary."

"No," Anwen said as she turned toward Seranni's voice. "I won't—"

The Architect's voice interrupted her. "It is unfortunate that your will is so weak." He waved his hand toward Anwen; more roots burst forth from the ground and snaked around her limbs, holding her in place as she gasped in surprise.

"You would pick a _shemlen_ before your own people? I thought you were a true _elvhen_, but you are no better than the flat ears that eat scraps off of _shemlen_ tables." Velanna said, her voice bitter and cruel. "Let us finish this; then, I will deal with the _shemlen_ sympathizer."

Something snapped inside her. Lhiannon's screams abruptly stopped and she turned her gaze toward Velanna. The elf's lips continued to move, weaving the spell that made Loghain close the distance between them. "Your treachery and betrayal will not be forgotten," she said, her voice raw and raspy. "And you—" She turned to the Architect. "You will regret using Velanna and the Dalish in such a way. We both know that you couldn't care less about them; if they contract the Blight sickness, it won't matter so long as you have what you want. Damn you all to the Void."

As she spoke, Loghain encroached on her, drawing close enough to the table that he could lift a knee and rest it on the surface. The look in his eyes tore at Lhiannon's soul; he knew what was happening, knew what the result of the Architect's work would be… and that they were both helpless to stop it. Neither one of them had been strong enough to stop it. She knew that if they survived this, she would likely never look at Loghain the same way again. Even though she knew he had no control of his actions, just seeing and enduring the assault would break her.

Tears streamed from Lhiannon's eyes as Loghain stopped at the edge of the table, his unsteady hands fumbling at the ties to his trousers. Though she wanted to find some sort of bravery or defiance within her, all she felt was horror and grief. She fought against the roots holding her fast, feeling the rough surface scrape and cut at her skin. A yowl escaped her raw and aching throat, turning into a sob as she wavered on the edge of anguish and madness.

_Grey Warden. I can help you._

* * *

_Dun dun dun! :o  
_

_I picked the chapter title after listening to my mp3 player a couple of weeks ago and heard the song "Closer to the Edge" by 30 Seconds to Mars. I liked the way the title sounded, especially since Lhiannon and the Wardens are teetering on an edge right now._

_Thank you to all of you reading and following along. Your support means a great deal more than I could say. Big thanks to reviewers The Watcher 4, Oleander's One, Suilven, Shakespira, , and Wyl. I very much appreciate your support! To the guest reviewer that gave Orlais the smackdown: I'm with you there. As for the Architect, I imagine the Wardens want to end his existence very, very badly. :P  
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	61. The Lost and the Found

_**Massive thanks to Suilven and her mad beta skills (and hand holding). You are all sorts of awesome, my friend!**_

* * *

Patience was a skill drummed into the Crows from a young age but, even so, that did not mean one's supply of the virtue was infinite. Zevran often prided himself on his level of patience; part of the excitement of his work was from the anticipation that built during times spent waiting and watching… exercising patience. The greater one's patience during the hunt, the greater the thrill when it was time to spring his trap.

At least, that was what usually had happened. Now, however, he found that his patience was quickly running out. He found it strangely amusing; for all the lovers and partners he had had in his life, Leliana was one of a very select few that had made him feel this way. He was terribly concerned for her safety, even among the Wardens. This _was_ Orlais, after all, and loyalty was fickle among many. While it was true that Grey Wardens had a strong bond between them, they were no less immune to treachery than others. If her true nature was discovered, her situation could deteriorate rapidly.

He needed to speak to her and get what information he could. Zevran had given brief thought to infiltrating the Warden compound, but had dismissed it almost as quickly. Sneaking into a group of highly trained warriors-ones that had an unnatural stamina, among other gifts-was something akin to suicide. While his abilities were considerable, Zevran was also not afraid to admit to his limitations. After all, he had once confronted just two of them and had found himself at the wrong end of a weapon. It was an experience he did not care to repeat.

Since Leliana's movements were limited, that left the grand cathedral as a viable possibility. Today, he sat on a bench across the boulevard from the cathedral, wearing simple brown leathers with a leather helmet pulled tightly over his head. He held a filched copy of the Chant in his hand; just another of the faithful seeking enlightenment on a beautiful day. In his attire, he could pass for a human servant or worker at one of the nearby businesses if someone looked at him from a distance. The helmet did little to hide his tattoos, however, so he was always careful to position himself so that they were not easily seen by anyone that might approach.

Walking boldly into the cathedral was certainly an option, but surely not the best one for one that wished anonymity. He could have tried to blend in with the crowds of worshippers, but his very appearance would gather more attention than he wished for. After all, Orlesians were not known to look upon elves kindly; his tattoos would brand him a Dalish-a savage-and that would no doubt offend many Orlesian sensibilities. He would be seen as defiling their sacred house of worship, no matter how fervent his protestations of devotion would be-an exaggeration, of course. Zevran scoffed; he was not a religious sort, but even Andraste had welcomed elves to her cause. It was something the humans and their Chantry often forgot.

The only other alternative was to watch and wait for the opportunity to sneak inside. It meant several days of observing the courtyard in various disguises, looking for patterns of movement so that he could determine the best time and place to enter. It was proving to be a difficult task; there had been activity at all hours of the day and night, what with the grand choir singing the entire Chant of Light in one continuous song. The faithful often said that it could take two weeks of continuous singing to go from beginning to end, and that was time that he simply did not have. He was expected to check in at one of Henri's safe houses soon, no doubt to be given another assignment originating from Clotaire Alune; therefore, his observation of the cathedral would have to end soon.

Zevran felt his brow furrow at the thought of the ambitious nobleman. From Leliana's covert letter, Zevran knew that the nobleman was at odds with his brother, the commander of the Grey, but Leliana had not said about what or why. Weisshaupt's second was also there and, apparently, he was also at odds with the commander. That could make for a bad situation for Leliana if her true identity was discovered. Perhaps it would be best to get her out of the Wardens' custody. Zevran knew from Dorothea that the Warden Commander planned on sending her back to Ferelden. That would certainly work to get her away from the compound, but would they see her escorted to the first ship bound for the south rather than just letting her walk away on her own? It was quite possible.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a figure in a bright yellow robe with an equally bright sunburst on the chest and a satchel on her hip emerge from the main sanctuary. His sharp eyes quickly identified the woman as Dorothea. She moved toward the outer entrance of the cathedral's courtyard, one that opened up to the main boulevard that bisected the opulent city. As she exited the compound, she turned toward the grand residential area that lay nearby; homes where many of the most affluent citizens in the city resided. Curious-and seeing that this could be the opportunity that he was looking for-Zevran moved to follow her.

As Dorothea traveled down the boulevard, she occasionally greeted someone she knew, or acknowledged those that she didn't with a polite nod when they greeted her. Zevran remained on the other side of the boulevard, shadowing her movements as he carefully wove through the citizens. He was receiving peculiar looks from some citizens without masks; he cursed inwardly, knowing that he would need to either catch Dorothea and speak with her soon, or break off the pursuit for more shadowy places. It was likely only a matter of time before someone alerted the city guard to a suspicious tattooed-and out of place-person mingling about.

As if some god, somewhere, had been watching over him, Dorothea turned off of the main boulevard and onto a residential street. Zevran walked past the street for several seconds so as to fall in with a horse and cart moving in the same direction as the Revered Mother. Fortunately for him, the cart carried several pieces of what looked to be brand new furniture, as the smell of finishing oil was strong on them. He placed himself in such a way that the cart was between him and the busier part of the street. It was easy enough for Zevran to move with the cart, but he had to be sure to stay within the driver and passenger's blind spots, lest he call additional attention to himself. The last thing he needed was to be spotted and hear the shouts of "thief!" ring out.

Thankfully, the cart was moving at a faster pace than what Dorothea was walking, and it did not take long for the distance between her and Zevran to close. When he had closed to about ten paces behind her, Zevran slowed and let the cart pull away. Dorothea watched the cart and its cargo as it passed, which gave Zevran the opportunity to catch up.

"Pardon me, Revered Mother, but might a humble acquaintance have a word with you?"

She turned her head to look at him, never breaking stride. One corner of her mouth turned up in a brief and knowing smirk. "It is my day to minister to the homebound in this neighborhood, but I can always spare a few moments to minister to others." Dorothea paused in her steps, pulling the strap of the satchel off of her shoulder and handing the pack to him. "You'll look less suspicious if you appear to be assisting me with my satchel. Or, perhaps you're a courier with a package for one of the residents here."

Zevran chuckled low as he rested the wide strap of the satchel on his shoulder. Dorothea was far more clever than one would think, especially given her affiliation with the Chantry. He slipped his copy of the Chant inside; Dorothea would make better use of it than he. They began walking once more, a leisurely pace set between them.

"I need to speak to our mutual acquaintance," Zevran said, his voice low so that only Dorothea would hear.

"Is she in danger?"

"I am unsure, my dear Mother." Zevran paused for a moment as he ran the contents of Leliana's surreptitious message through his mind. "I do not think she is in immediate peril, but the situation could change rapidly. I need to know what she has seen, and too many letters to supposed friends and family could draw suspicion, especially since she had mentioned that her cover story is potentially in doubt."

They walked past an estate with a living wall of evergreens in front, freshly pruned and smelling faintly of sap and pine. "She has not come to services yet this week," Dorothea said. "You do know that she never comes alone."

"But, is there any time in which she _is_ alone?" Zevran asked. "Her chaperone cannot be with her all of the time."

Dorothea shook her head. "Dorian is her shadow, always with her. When services are complete, he quickly ushers her back to the Warden compound."

Zevran drew breath, ready to curse his luck, Leliana's luck, and just circumstances in general when Dorothea held up a hand. He paused, watching as one of her brows rose slightly. A knowing look crossed her features.

"That does not mean, however, that she cannot be separated from him for several moments for a chantry ritual."

Intrigued, Zevran leaned forward, eagerly anticipating the Mother's words. "How?"

* * *

Leliana sat at the simple table in her room in the Warden compound, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two boots that rested on the tabletop. She wasn't admiring the style of the boots—they were far too plain and spartan for her taste—but looking to see if the small paring knife that she had pilfered from the kitchen was detectable from the outside. She had cut a small slit in the lining of the boot, just large enough to hold the knife. It had been tricky to make a precise cut with it; the knife was badly in need of a whet stone, but would certainly do in a pinch.

She lifted the boots off of the table, sliding her feet into them and taking several steps around the room. The knife was a bit uncomfortable, as it rested just behind her right ankle; she would need to take care that her steps didn't betray its presence.

It wasn't as if she was completely worried about her safety within the Warden compound, but a little assurance in the form of the paring knife would not hurt. There was no concrete reason as to why she had begun to doubt her safety, but her instincts warned her to be cautious. When it came to those feelings, she had learned long ago to trust in them, even if she was unsure as to why.

Leliana looked into the small mirror hanging on the wall near the door to her chambers. She could faintly see her bright red locks beginning to show along her scalp, standing out against the darker hue she had imbued into it. She had no more of the walnut husk and clove mixture that she had originally used to darken her hair. Strongly brewed coffee would help keep her hair somewhat dark, but only temporarily. She would need to ask for more of the beverage; surely, her fellow Wardens likely wondered how she could ever sleep with as much of the brew as she apparently consumed. Though dyeing one's hair wasn't completely uncommon in Orlais, it could invite questions from the Warden Commander that she was not ready to answer. She doubted that he would accept the explanation that the dyeing was simple vanity.

A rapping on the door drew Leliana's attention away from the mirror. "Laya? Are you ready to go?"

Leliana brushed her hands over several wayward strands of hair to smooth them into place. Satisfied, she reached for the cloak that hung on a nearby peg and wrapped it around her shoulders before opening the door. Dorian stood outside, a look of cool detachment on his face. Leliana gave him a shy smile and averted her gaze as she met him with Laya's face. They moved through the compound and to the street outside in silence.

"Laya," Dorian began after several minutes, "what is Ferelden like? Warden Commander Jean-René says that you were there during the Blight."

An innocent question, or a roundabout interrogation? Leliana was uncertain and could not be sure until Dorian had heard her answer and responded. "Ferelden would be considered largely uncivilized by many Orlesians; however, one should not confuse rural or simple for uncivilized. There is beauty in the land and the people unlike anywhere else."

"What did the Blight do there? The rumors say that the country has been divided in two by the blighted lands."

Leliana saw no harm in telling Dorian the truth; based on his question, he may have already suspected the answer. "That is true. I saw much of the devastation while I was ministering to the displaced. Until you have seen the damage of the darkspawn and the Blight first hand, words cannot describe it adequately."

"So, their farmlands _have_ been destroyed?"

"I cannot say for certain, Dorian, but it is a possibility."

Dorian fell silent and they continued their journey toward the cathedral. His questions could certainly have been nothing more than a young man's curiosity; however, the bard within Leliana always sought the hidden meaning behind the words. It was possible that the Warden Commander was trying to catch "Laya" in a lie, waiting until they returned from services to press Dorian for his information.

"And what about _you_, Laya?" Dorian asked after several moments of silence had passed by. "Why would you even go to such a place when you could have remained here in the Grand Cathedral?"

The building of which Dorian spoke was before them, majestic and gleaming in the morning sun. They joined the crowds that were filing in. Leliana sighed slightly when she thought of Dorian's question; a part of her longed for the solitude and simplicity of Lothering again. "Bringing Andraste's story and the Maker's word to those who do not know it is what I am meant to do. It is hard work in a hard land, often amongst hardened people who believe in the old ways. It is a burden that is both difficult and rewarding. It is what the Maker has asked of me."

They passed through the vestibule and into the main chamber, moving toward the seats that the Grey Wardens normally occupied when they attended services. They sat in the last row of benches, looking on toward the main altar and the glorious statue of Andraste. The grand chair that the Divine normally occupied was empty; a common sight in recent months, from what Leliana had heard from Dorothea. It was said that the Divine was in poor health of late. Other than that, little else was known.

Next to the Divine's seat was a chair occupied by another woman, one not far from Leliana's age. She rose and stepped forward and, when she spoke, her voice could be heard in all corners of the cathedral.

"The Maker has been absent for far too long. While our patron and lady Andraste intercedes on our behalf, we must do more to help her righteous cause. It is only with our complete devotion that our beloved lady's words will be heeded and the Maker return to bless and grace his children."

Leliana found herself nodding slightly. The cleric speaking was right; even with the fear of the Blight behind them, many people still did not hear the words of Andraste and the Maker. They went about their lives as normal, not recognizing the miracle that the Grey Wardens had perpetrated in ending the Blight before it could spread beyond Ferelden's borders. They could not have done it without the grace of the Maker. She returned her attention to the speaker.

"But, He _has_ been gone too long; the forces for which He gave us the Chant and the forces that Andraste opposed threaten to rise again. Perhaps _we_ bear some of this blame: we have not been vigilant enough in spreading the Chant and the Maker's will to all ends of the world. Or, perhaps there are those who have forgotten these lessons and have allowed the forces of darkness and deceit to enter their hearts. They threaten to bring back the dark days of the past, when the powers of blood and heresy filled the world with darkness, slavery, and oppression."

Leliana felt the corners of her mouth pull down slightly. The tone the Mother used was somewhat ominous, not only for its message but also for the vagueness of whom she was speaking about. A sinking feeling made Leliana's stomach twitch uncomfortably. While it was not uncommon for speakers to take such a tone when pontificating, there was something about the words that she found disconcerting.

The cleric clenched her fist, shaking it slightly for emphasis. "It is our _duty_ as Andrastians first, and Orlesians second, to right these wrongs. _We_ must be the example the world looks to for piety, faith, and righteousness. _We_ must be the ones to set the example, to lead those who have fallen astray back to the Maker's light. It is _our_ duty and obligation. We cannot sit idly by and let the world fall into darkness. _We_ must be the flame that lights the darkness and devours the weak."

The woman paused for a moment; she then held her hands to the congregation to beseech them. "Join us, children of the Maker. Join us as we seek to bring light to the darkness through Andraste's sacred flame. We must stop the spread of darkness and deceit before it travels any farther. Only through sacred purification can we win the gift of the Maker's return. It is our sacred duty."

The woman moved back to her seat next to the Divine's throne, her silence allowing the words of her sermon to take root in the minds of the participants. Leliana saw some heads nod through the crowd, while others merely looked ahead. Next to her, Dorian had closed his eyes, likely contemplating the cleric's words.

Movement from her left caught Leliana's attention. The familiar form of Dorothea moved in behind them and leaned forward; she placed a hand on Leliana's shoulder, her voice a low whisper in her ear, yet not so low that Dorian could not hear.

"Child, have you repented and found absolution lately?"

Leliana's brows furrowed, not quite understanding what Dorothea was getting at, but trusting in the other woman. "No, Mother. I have not."

Dorothea reached over Leliana's shoulder and grasped one of her hands, gently yet firmly guiding Leliana to her feet. "Then, come; it is time."

As Leliana stood, Dorian also got to his feet and made to follow. Dorothea held up a hand, smiling gently at the larger man. "What Sister Laya must do is something she must undertake alone. Absolution is a private affair between her and the Maker."

Leliana watched as Dorian's brows furrowed and his arms crossed his chest. "But not so private in that you attend?"

"My child," Dorothea said, her voice low but nonetheless firm, "I am there to oversee the ritual and begin the prayers; Laya herself must complete it."

From what Leliana could see, Dorian remained unconvinced, his gaze thoroughly studying both her and Dorothea. Leliana hoped that Dorothea was convincing enough; it had dawned on her that the Mother was trying to get her alone. Leliana wasn't sure of the reason, but it must have been important.

"I have not heard of this ritual before. I thought all of the Maker's children could receive absolution," Dorian said, his voice skeptical and posture betraying growing irritation. Leliana flicked her eyes between them; Dorian was calling Dorothea's bluff.

"I mean no disrespect, Warden, but have you taken any sort of vows within the Chantry?"

"No. What does that have to do with it?"

"Sister Laya had committed herself to the Chantry before she became a Grey Warden. As such, she still has duties that she must perform from time to time if she is to continue ministering to others, including the Grey Wardens. While it is true that any of the Maker's children can receive absolution, those that have committed to the Chantry must perform additional rituals. A more intense ritual of repentance and absolution is one of them."

"Grey Wardens give up their past lives," Dorian said. "That includes those that have taken vows."

"I must clear my heart of wrongdoing if I hope to bring others to the Maker's light," Leliana added, hoping that her contribution to the conversation would help convince Dorian. "I cannot ask others to remain free from sin if I still harbor such things in my own heart. Grey Wardens can still have faith, Dorian."

Silence fell between the three as Leliana waited for Dorian's reaction. His lips were pursed as he contemplated Dorothea's words. A part of Leliana wished that Dorian had been a man of blind faith; he would have accepted Dorothea's word without question. It worried Leliana; this would certainly get back to the Warden Commander, which would turn his scrutiny to her once more. Her mind whirled; she needed to find a way out.

Dorian sighed. "Please do this ritual quickly," he said as he sat down once more. "We will need to return to the compound soon."

"As you wish," Dorothea said as she nodded in thanks. "You will not fall into disfavor with your commander." She motioned Leliana forward with her hand toward a small enclosed vestibule off the main cathedral chamber. "Come, child. It is time for you to seek forgiveness and solace from the Maker."

Leliana followed Dorothea toward the vestibule, where two simple doors stood side by side; the confessional, a small room with little more than a padded bench for kneeling, a shelf with a copy of the Chant of Light, and a small latticed window connecting this chamber to the one next to it. In the past, Leliana had felt a sense of trepidation when it had been time to confess her wrongs and weaknesses to one of the chantry Mothers. She had done many things in her life that she thought few would forgive, especially Andraste and the Maker. However, the Chantry had shown her hope, that even those who had committed the most grievous sins could still find forgiveness. Though the Maker had chosen to withhold forgiveness from His children by being away for so long, Leliana still had hope that He would eventually forgive all. She had faith that He would return, and that spoke to her of the power of forgiveness.

In this case, Leliana was more confused than wary. Dorothea had wanted to get her away from Dorian, that much was clear. But, why?

She and Dorothea reached the two doors, each standing in front of one. Leliana turned to look at the Mother. Dorothea had a curious look on her face. "Come, Laya."

Leliana placed her hand on the cool knob of the door and turned it. She stepped inside and pulled it shut behind her. The closing of the door plunged the room into near darkness, with only a small votive lit to light the way. She turned her head and saw a cloaked shape in the corner; someone had already entered the small chamber.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," Leliana said as she rested her hand on the doorknob to leave. "I did not know that someone was already here."

"Come now, _mia cara_, stay and let us try to save each other's souls."

A wide smile crossed Leliana's face as the shadowed figure removed his hood, revealing blond hair and two distinct tattoos on his cheek.

* * *

"_Grey Warden. I can help you._"

The words were both a low whisper in Lhiannon's ear and a loud boom in her head. The deep, ethereal voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Her eyes grew wide as she turned her head to seek out the voice that had called to her. There were no new people in the room that she could see and no one else seemed to react to the booming voice. Maybe she had finally broken and gone mad.

"_Grey Warden!_"

The insistent voice seemed to pull her mind toward the part of her that was always connected to the Fade. Its force was strong, and sought to drag her reeling mind toward it. It was a beguiling thought, to retreat to the Fade rather than face what would happen to her in the waking world. Resigned, she closed her eyes and felt the drop of her stomach and the vertigo that always accompanied her when she sent her waking self past the Veil that separated the worlds.

When she opened her eyes, the landscape around her had changed. The darkness had taken on the strange yellowish haze of the Fade, as if she were looking through the glass of a smudged and dirty window. She turned her head from side to side, seeking the one marker that remained the same no matter what the Fade immediately surrounding her looked like; the Black City. She found it in only a moment, a dark outline on one of the room's walls that looked like little more than a dark stain.

She looked toward Loghain, her brow furrowing as it appeared that he had stopped moving. So, too, had the Architect and Velanna. How had time stopped for everyone around her, but seemingly not for herself? After a moment of close scrutiny, she saw that the miasma of blood around Loghain was indeed moving, but at a nearly imperceptible rate.

From behind Loghain, a glow began to coalesce from the dark haze of the Fade. The light drew closer, the indistinct glow growing into a form that looked like a transparent man. It appeared to be dressed in heavy templar armor from head to toe, and glowed more and more brightly as it drew closer. Lhiannon felt her eyes squint in an effort to block the light that emanated from the being; while the light was warm, it did not burn her. There was no sense of malevolence from the creature, but that did not mean this creature wasn't a demon.

"Grey Warden! You _must_ listen to me!"

The voice… deep, slightly gravelly… and familiar. She knew this being…

"Who… wh... _Justice?_"

"I am the spirit that you had once known as Justice," the being confirmed as he closed the distance between them. "However, there is little time; we must make haste. The Veil is thin where you are and the demons will soon find us."

Lhiannon stared at Justice, her mind whirling with confusion and disbelief. "I... I don't understand."

A heavily armored hand pointed beyond Loghain toward the place it had first manifested. "The spirit of valor that aids your companion—Anders, it called him—heard your anguish through the mortal. I, in turn, heard it through Valor. Valor is holding the demons at bay, keeping them from breaking through the Veil to where you are, but he cannot do it for long."

Justice lowered his hand, standing rigidly as he continued to speak. "You helped me to return to the Fade after defeating the demon in the place you called the Blackmarsh. It is my turn to help you."

"What… what must I do?"

"Allow me to use you. Let my power join you and, with it, we can bring justice to those who have wronged you and your companions."

Lhiannon took a sharp breath. An abomination… what Justice was asking her to do was to become an abomination. It would hardly matter what type of spirit Justice was, the end was the same. Would she be like Wynne or Anders, a mage whose spirit helped augment their skills? Or, would she become like Uldred, seemingly normal on the outside, but only a breath away from becoming a raging monster? What would Justice do to her? And what if the Chantry somehow found out about it? Would her status as a Grey Warden protect her, or would they send the abomination hunters against her? They might not openly send the templars against the Vigil, but that did not mean that they wouldn't pursue her in other ways.

Nonetheless, given the situation, it was a tempting offer. Justice could help her free herself and her Wardens, and maybe even help destroy the Architect and his minions once and for all. If left alive, she had no doubt that the Architect would attempt to free another old god from the prison in which it slept. But, what if Justice decided to take over and usurp her body; would she be able to fight him off? Would her essence be doomed to wander the Fade forever, like Niall's? Or, would she simply cease to exist? Would she be forever stalked by demons after this?

"Warden, you must hurry. Time still moves forward and it is short indeed."

Lhiannon looked from Justice to Loghain. True enough, the red miasma had subtly changed shape around him. Loghain had also moved slightly, encroaching close enough to where he could reach out and touch her if he could.

"Will you… leave… if I ask you to?" Lhiannon asked. 'Will you try to take over and destroy all that I am?"

"You are reticent; I do not claim to fully understand such things about your kind; my experience, as you know, is limited." Justice's deep voice seemed to hold a small degree of regret, as if he wished that he had learned more about the Maker's other children in the brief amount of time he had occupied Kristoff's body. The gesture was fleeting; he straightened to full height, magnificent and powerful in his brilliantly glowing armor. "I give you my solemn oath: when this deed is concluded, I will return to my realm, and you to yours. All shall be as it was before if you hurry."

* * *

The pain was blinding, stabbing through every nerve. Loghain knew that he was weakening despite his will and his resistance to Velanna's spell. Whenever he had tried to find a new depth of resolve, she had countered it, seemingly with little effort. He was going to fail Lhiannon and the others; no matter what he tried to do to counter the spell, it was futile. There was no way out of this situation without completing this abhorrent act. Not even dying was an option; Velanna and the Architect would no doubt see to that.

Before him, Lhiannon lay on the table, struggling against the spell and bonds that held her in place. As he watched, she suddenly went still. Her eyes rolled back onto her head with only the whites showing. Her eyelids fluttered for a few brief seconds before closing completely. Loghain felt his stomach drop. Had she given up?

When she opened her eyes again, the whites had an unnaturally bright glow, as if the sun itself rested within them.

* * *

_Well, I'm not quite sure what to say about the horrible gap in posting, so I'll just say this: the writer's block and apathy bug took a major hold on me over the last few months. It was hard to write and, even worse, hard to dig up the will to write. I hope to find my way back to quicker updates and replies. To those of you I owe review replies to (and there are a few of you), I will get to them as soon as I can. I miss writing about Lhi, Loghain, and all of the others in the story (though I'm not sure Lhi is very happy with me at the moment). She's been giving me the stink eye, so I'd better get her to happier events as soon as possible. ;)  
_

_Not all was bad, though. I wrote a short story for the Secret Santa exchange on the Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age forum (and, if you haven't joined us, head on over to my profile page for the link information). It's called **"The Precipice of Fate,"** starring Morrigan and Flemeth. It's a DA prequel piece regarding a long forgotten ritual and the opportunity it presents to them.  
_

_As for the Little One, she's growing by leaps and bounds. She's almost 17 months old and just a busy little bee. She's climbing, running, and talking like crazy (and may or may not have said a naughty word that she may or may not have learned from her mommy). I'm trying to sneak in this update while she's sleeping. :p She certainly keeps Mommy on her toes.  
_

_Thank you as always to my wonderful reviewers: Seika, Arsinoe, Oleander's One, Shakespira, Suilven, Tyanilth, and Nymra. I very much appreciate your support! To my quiet readers, I thank you as well. I appreciate you giving your time to my tale. :)_


	62. Through the Eyes of a Stranger

**_Big time kudos and thanks to my wonderful beta and friend, Suilven. You are the best and I appreciate everything you do for me!_**

**_Readers: heads up; there is violence in this chapter, quite a bit of it, actually. Though it is throughout the chapter, the most intense parts are in the second half._**

* * *

Her eyes.

There was something wrong with her eyes.

Loghain watched as Lhiannon's eyes blinked once, and then twice, seemingly fixed on a single point in the air above her. They captivated his attention with a strange ethereal glow, the dark brown that they ordinarily held now almost black next to the bright white. Was she trying to work some magic that had been previously unknown to him? Was she channeling her mana into strength? He had never seen her like this before: not during the Landsmeet, nor fighting darkspawn, nor fighting the archdemon itself. This was something different and it made him very uneasy.

That was when he realized that the air around them was changing.

It wasn't just the hairs on the back of his neck that had suddenly risen. His skin crawled with a prickling sensation, like it was breaking out in gooseflesh. The air itself seemed to get heavier and he could have sworn that there was a humming noise, one just barely within range of hearing. It even tasted strange; an almost bitter taste above and beyond what the taint normally put into the air.

Movement from the corner of his eye drew Loghain's gaze to his right. The Architect had grabbed his staff from nearby and was moving off. He quickly left Loghain's field of vision, but not before Loghain caught a glimpse of the creature's face.

The Architect seemed... alarmed. Whatever it was that was happening around them, it had given the Architect pause, had spooked the creature enough to want to flee. Loghain felt the pit in his stomach grow deeper. What _was_ happening, and what was the depth of Lhiannon's involvement?

"Where are you going?"

Loghain could not see Velanna's expression, but the shrillness in her voice was unmistakable. She repeated the question after a moment of silence, but the Architect still did not answer. As Velanna had spoken to the Architect, Loghain had felt the air around them grow even more charged. The hairs on his arms began to rise, joining those that had risen on the back of his neck. It was eerily reminiscent of the air before a summer storm, one that would cause the wind to break trees and the lightning to spark fires wherever it touched the ground.

He was no mage, but his instincts told him that some sort of magic was at work.

A snapping sound from where Lhiannon lay captive quickly drew Loghain's eyes back to her. The vines and roots holding her in place were quivering precariously, as if the spell creating them was somehow failing. Loghain heard Velanna speak sharply in the elven tongue from nearby; a curse, more than likely, judging by how venomous the words had sounded. She would likely have to decide within seconds where to focus her magical energies: onto Loghain, in the hope of completing what the Architect had originally planned; or, onto the vines keeping Lhiannon immobilized. Even the most powerful of mages could only keep two spells going for a limited period of time. It was a theory he was suddenly anxious to test.

He didn't want to draw Velanna's attention to himself just yet, so he would need to do something small, something that she was unlikely to notice. It came to him almost immediately. Focusing his will, he pushed it downward toward his feet, picturing his toes nestled inside his woolen socks. He imagined them curling; however, nothing happened. Undeterred, he once again turned his mind's eye onto his toes and imagined them moving; first, his largest toe, and then the others in unison. He did it again. Then again. Just as he felt the first seeds of doubt worm their way into his gut, Loghain felt the slightest movement inside his boot. Encouraged, he tried moving them again and found that it was a bit easier to command them this time. Velanna's attention was surely divided; now, he would need to think of a way to overpower the hold on him and move against her before she could react.

"No more!"

Loghain turned his attention to Lhiannon; it had been her voice that had filled the room, but it had been almost too loud. Bright rivulets of color raced along her skin as if the light that was in her eyes had suddenly spread throughout her body and was trying to break free. The charge in the air reached a crescendo, and the vines that had covered her fell away with a sharp snapping sound. Her arms and legs flexed, and the bonds that had held them in place ripped away from the table to dangle from her extremities. How had that been possible?

"You will not flee, not this time," Lhiannon said as she sat up on the table. She swung her legs off the side, no doubt preparing to pursue the Architect. Loghain watched her as she set her feet on the floor and stood, her strangely glowing eyes focused on the door the Architect had fled through moments before.

Her voice had sounded odd to Loghain's ears; it was Lhiannon's voice to be sure, but there was a strange sibilant quality in it as well. Her voice was her own, yet it almost sounded as if she was trying to speak deeply at the same time. Loghain's instincts screamed at him; there was something very, _very_ wrong here.

Before he could further consider the wrongness around her, Loghain felt himself lurch forward. His right hand reached out and snatched a handful of Lhiannon's long hair, the grip so tight that he could see the muscles of his forearm flex with his strength. His arm pulled on the clump of hair in his hand, and he watched as Lhiannon yelped in pain and surprise, one of her hands instinctively reaching toward her head and the section of scalp that had pained her.

Her hand never completed the journey; it froze as Lhiannon's head whirled about to look at Loghain with those strangely glowing eyes. He had only a split second to register her movement before he felt himself being hurled backwards through the air, where his back struck the rock wall behind him. Bright stars filled his vision as he slumped down the wall, the rough texture scraping at his skin and his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as the world began to grow dark around him.

* * *

She saw the world through the eyes of a stranger.

The world was familiar, yet strangely alien to her as she gazed ahead. A sense of awe and wonder filled her as Justice saw and began to experience the mortal realm through her. He seemed to study everything at once; the rough rock of the ceiling above them; the straps that circled her wrists; the vines that stretched across her body and held her in place. He felt the pumping of the tainted blood through her veins, felt her heart beating inside her chest. He was omnipotent and everywhere.

As they both thought about the vines, Lhiannon could suddenly feel the raw power of Justice thrum through her. Her muscles felt as taut as a bowstring, her nerves tingling as if all the mana in the world had suddenly filled her with potential. She had never felt this powerful before. It was frightening, yet strangely intoxicating. Once more, Lhiannon and Justice thought about the magical vines covering their shared existence; inside her head, Justice's voice rang out with its strong and deep timbre: "Be gone."

Bright lines of color raced across her skin as the mana and power inside her seemingly burst free of her physical shell; her skin stung madly where the power had split her skin. A heated, flushed sensation filled her body, as if the room had suddenly grown much warmer. The resonance of the power inside her grew and crossed the physical barrier of her body and into the magical essence of the vines that covered her. She felt them begin to resonate in tune with the power coursing through her body.

From the corner of her eye, she saw that the Architect had moved. The creature had grabbed his staff from where it stood propped against the wall nearby; to Lhiannon's dismay, the creature was preparing to flee. In an instant, her horror at the Architect's potential escape turned to anger. She could not—_would not_—allow it to flee again and continue whatever mad experiments it had in mind. With the archdemon gone, this creature was, perhaps, the most dangerous being in Thedas; not the Chantry, not the warmongering of humans, elves, and dwarves; not even the Tevinters or the Qun. It was this being and the chaos it would once more unleash if given the chance. The Grey Wardens could not afford to fail again.

Justice picked up on Lhiannon's anger, instantly knowing what she knew about the Architect. He shared her sense of failure at the creature's earlier escape with his minion, Utha; he shared her anger and revulsion at what the Architect had planned for her, Loghain, and the other Wardens; he shared her fear at what the Architect could do if allowed to escape again. He knew everything she did, felt everything she did; Justice had easily entered her mind to find what knowledge she possessed. With that knowledge, she knew the moment when Justice had decided that this madness could no longer continue. The righteous anger and rage rose within her, unstoppable and unrelenting as Justice joined her.

The voice of Justice spoke within her again, even stronger than before. "_Be gone!"_

A sharp crack filled her ears and Velanna's spell broke. Justice and his power surged through Lhiannon; she took what he possessed and channeled it much like she could channel her mana into strength. Her body felt incredibly powerful with this newfound strength. Justice both encouraged and compelled her to use his power; it was irresistible. She flexed her muscles, feeling the last of the bonds holding her in place fall away.

"You will not flee, not this time," Lhiannon said, her voice booming within her as Justice spoke the words as well. She swung her legs off of the table and began to stand, ready to chase after the Architect and give him the death he so richly deserved. Loghain was still standing nearby, his face streaked with blood and his expression slack; he watched her with wide eyes, but made no move to assist her. He was, apparently, still under Velanna's spell. _She_ would be dealt with later.

Lhiannon's legs were slightly wobbly as she balanced her weight on them. Before she could move forward, she felt Loghain grab her hair and yank it, hard. She cried out in surprise and pain, her hand moving to rub her scalp. Instinctively, Justice surged forward and turned her head to glare at Loghain and the lock of her hair that he had in his bloodied hand. Justice lashed out with her arm, a burst of power from within her hitting Loghain squarely in his chest. The lock of hair he held slipped through his hand as the spell threw him away and into the nearby wall. From inside her shared mind, Lhiannon screamed in anguish as she watched Loghain's body crumple to the ground like a child's discarded toy.

_Justice, no!_

Despair turned to relief when she saw Loghain move slightly. That relief quickly turned to rage as Lhiannon's head turned and her shared gaze locked onto Velanna. She had been forced to turn against Loghain because of the other woman's spell. Velanna had also knowingly and unabashedly aided the Architect in his endeavors; Lhiannon had begun to feel a degree of guilt at her role in Velanna's defection, but it was quickly quashed by Justice. He had easily picked up on her anger and anguish, and he surged through Lhiannon's body once more. It was almost too easy to forget the guilt with the righteous anger of Justice filling her.

Her own voice sounded strange as she gathered what felt like only a fraction of the mana that had built inside her and recited the words to a spell. Her hand thrust out toward where Velanna, Seranni, and the thralls stood, a wave of energy bursting forth to crash into them. Bodies left the ground and flew backward under the force of the spell. As Velanna struck the wall behind her and staggered, still on her feet, Seranni collided with a thrall standing just behind her. The thrall's body wasn't enough to stop her momentum, but instead threw Seranni off center enough so that she struck the stone wall head first with a crack and a thud. Her body landed in a heap on the ground, her head resting at a strange angle and open, unseeing eyes staring out into the center of the chamber. As Velanna gathered her wits around her, she spotted her sister's lifeless body and howled in rage. "_Shemlen_," Velanna said, the word spat at Lhiannon with a venom she had never heard before. "_Emma shem'nan. Ar tu na'din_."

Lhiannon took a cautious step forward, unsteady with her footing from being prone on the table, as well as unsure of the power of Justice thrumming through her. There was a perception of pain throughout her body, but it was hard to tell with all of the different sensations and thoughts that Justice was experiencing through her. From nearby, Lhiannon saw Loghain slowly move again; relieved, she returned her attention to Velanna, who was once more casting a spell. She slashed at the thralls near her, gathering more of their blood for whatever she was going to conjure. The red miasma that had been hanging in the air grew thicker as the blood gathered.

_Warden, _Justice's voice boomed from within her,_ it is time to bring justice to this betrayer. I see within you what this person has done. I see what the creature you call the Architect has done. No more. This, here, must end so that we can pursue the Architect. _

It was almost too easy to agree with Justice; the spirit's influence was so _strong_. Lhiannon admired his conviction and sense of purpose. Justice did not balk or waiver. He seemed to have no doubts, unlike her; she seemed to doubt everything. Every fiber of her being—or was it his?—screamed that this was the right thing to do. He _understood._ No one else could.

In a small, far away part of her mind, Lhiannon began to wonder if the thoughts were truly hers.

Her legs finally remembered their strength and purpose. She stepped toward Velanna, the anger and unwavering resolve of Justice swelling within her to smother any doubts she might have had. The force of their shared voice filled the air around them as they took another steadier step toward Velanna. "Desertion, betrayal, usurpation … you are guilty of all. Justice is demanded of you in this world and the next."

Confident in her growing strength and conviction, the distance between her and Velanna closed rapidly. Lhiannon watched her right hand stretch out toward the still-casting elf and pierce some of the blood red tendrils swirling about her; they prickled against her skin as if she were being stung by a horde of mosquitoes. "Go, now, to your gods and let justice be done upon you."

Lhiannon watched as her hand grasped Velanna's throat; the feel of the elf's skin was a distant sensation, almost as if _she _were feeling it through _Justice_ and not the other way around. Justice focused on her hand, assisting as it began to squeeze. Velanna's eyes went wide as Lhiannon's grip tightened. The elf was still for only a moment—likely due to surprise or shock at Lhiannon's attack—before she started to fight back.

From the corner of her vision, Lhiannon saw a flash of metal in the dim light as Velanna brought up the knife she had slashed the thralls with to defend herself. Velanna had raised the weapon up and back, and thrust it toward Lhiannon's neck. Anticipating the blow, Lhiannon raised her free hand up to try and block the weapon. She succeeded in deflecting the blow, but the blade ran across the flesh of her fingers. Strangely, the wound did not hurt at first but, as Velanna drew the blade back for another attack, her fingers began to throb in unison with her heartbeat and became sluggish in movement. The second blow from Velanna was weaker than the first—likely due to the choke hold on her throat—but the blade was able to slice deeply across the outside of Lhiannon's upper arm before she could completely deflect it. It immediately began to throb as it bled; the arm would soon be useless if the fight continued.

Justice began to move her body before Lhiannon could consider a new plan of attack. She felt one of her knees bend up and back behind her and, in an instant, it rushed forward and impacted Velanna's stomach with a dull thud. Lhiannon heard the clatter of the knife as it fell from Velanna's hand and landed on the floor nearby. Her hand released Velanna's throat and the elf dropped down onto her hands and knees. Lhiannon felt her weight shift to one foot as the other leg bent back and made ready to kick Velanna in the ribs while she kneeled on the ground. This battle would soon be over.

Without warning, something meaty and hard impacted the place where Lhiannon's neck met her shoulder. She lost her footing and stumbled as the ankle supporting her weight rolled beneath her. Ignoring the pain, Lhiannon scrambled to her feet and whirled around to face her new attacker. Loghain had been moving toward her again, his hands clasped together into a single fist that was already in motion. She moved to dodge the incoming blow, but his hands still landed on her injured shoulder. A wave of nausea rolled through her and she hissed sharply, her arm now doing little more than hang at her side. She stumbled again and limped back a few steps, seeking to put some distance between her and the attacking Loghain.

Velanna's breathing had turned from raspy gulps of air into a loud wheeze. The words to the spell controlling Loghain had first been in little more than a harsh whisper but soon became a louder, albeit it gruff, voice. She paused briefly and her hoarse chuckle filled the air between them. "I've made a decision, _shemlen_. I think death will be too good for you. I want you to _suffer,_ as I have suffered the loss of my sister. We always need females here and it would be unfortunate to waste one, even one such as yourself."

Loghain was once more encroaching on her, his hands raised before him in tightly balled fists. Hand-to-hand combat was out of the question; his superior size, strength, and soldier's knowledge were an overwhelming advantage in close quarters. She was unarmored; the shift she wore would not protect her in such a physical assault. Lhiannon could feel Justice clawing his way through her mind, looking for knowledge on Loghain and what could be done to counteract him. She felt her hands grow warm, as Justice found the knowledge to a spell of fire and began to speak the words to cast it.

_Justice, no! _ Lhiannon cried out, her voice audible only to her and the entity within. _Don't kill him!_

_He and the elf are a threat to us, Warden. They attacked you. They mean to further harm you. I will not allow it._

Lhiannon fought against the pit forming in her stomach. She knew that Justice would make good on his word, especially now that Velanna had made her newest threat. He knew what she did, knew what Velanna meant by 'making her suffer.' It was the greatest fear of a female Warden.

_He attacks only because Velanna is using blood magic to control him! Stop her, and Loghain won't be a threat any longer. Her threats will die with her._

_Warden,_ Justice said, his booming voice maddeningly cool and detached, _if we turn our back on one, the other will still be a threat. Both must be neutralized. _Lhiannon saw her good hand rise up before her, a hazy swirl of power bending the space around it. Before the power could be released, Loghain's arm swung in an arc, the back of his hand cracking against the side of Lhiannon's face. Her body stumbled once more, reeling from the hit. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

A blinding rage filled Lhiannon, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She came up from her crouch with her hands up in front of her. Loghain was close enough to touch; she thrust her arms out as if to push him away, channeling her mana through them and into the palms of her hands. She shouted out the words to a spell as her hands impacted Loghain's chest, its power flowing through her and augmenting the strength of her push. He was thrust toward the slab upon which she had been bound earlier, the impact knocking him onto, and then over, the top. He disappeared into the darkness on the other side.

Seconds passed... and he did not rise from the shadows. Sorrow welled within her once again; what had she done? _What had she done?_

Without warning, Lhiannon felt something strike her thigh, something both sharp and hard that would likely leave a deep bruise behind. As she looked down, another object struck her near the top of her head, hard enough so that a few streaks of light appeared in her vision. This time, she saw the object as it fell at her feet.

A rock.

Suddenly, she felt more of them striking her, and she instinctively raised her left arm up to protect her face while her injured right arm bent at the elbow to protect her stomach. For every rock that whizzed by without hitting her, another struck her. The sharp edge of one grazed the cheek that Loghain had struck moments before, slicing the already tender flesh open. Drops of blood landed on her shift and spread along the fabric. Other rocks hit her raised arm, her legs, her side, each one carrying with it a stinging sensation, bruises, or blood.

She could barely hear her own voice above the cacophony of the stoning as her mana was focused into a spell. Energy coalesced into her left hand and she thrust it out, releasing a bolt of power toward Velanna. The spell wasn't powerful; she hoped it would be enough to disrupt the elf and stop the stoning long enough to try and heal her limp arm and sluggish fingers. The bolt hit Velanna in the shoulder and set her off balance, where she fell to one knee with a sharp hiss. Stones that were meant for Lhiannon suddenly veered off into the shadows as they followed Velanna's momentum.

With that reprieve, Lhiannon quickly brushed her fingers over her injured shoulder and down to her fingertips, imparting a small amount of healing magic into her flesh. She couldn't afford much more than a surface healing, as Velanna was regaining her footing and wits, her voice and hands once more weaving a spell.

"You shall speak no more," Lhiannon heard herself say as she quickly rushed toward Velanna. The voice was hers, yet it wasn't her using it. From within her mind, she watched her left hand reach out and grasp Velanna's neck again. She felt her fingers flex of their own accord, pressing into the mottled and corrupted flesh.

Ever defiant, Velanna glared into Lhiannon's eyes as her lips and hands still wove the spell. Even as Lhiannon leaned her weight into the smaller woman and forced her down toward the ground, even with Justice's strength fueling her, the lips and hands still moved. As they sank down, one of Velanna's hands began to skitter along the ground as if searching for something while the other began to scrabble at Lhiannon's forearm. Even still, Velanna never broke eye contact; the hate in them was clear.

It took only a second for Lhiannon to feel calloused hands circle her own throat and begin to squeeze.

* * *

_No!_

The shout of disbelief and resistance rang through Loghain's mind as he watched his own hands grasp Lhiannon's throat. He could feel the ridges under the skin as his fingers dug into her flesh. An excruciating wave of pain washed over him as he railed against Velanna's spell. It had been considerably difficult to resist her before, but the new blood fueling the spell had increased its hold over him significantly.

Loghain focused his will, seeking a way to either release his hold on Lhiannon or force Velanna to break the spell. Whatever it was that he had witnessed earlier—Lhiannon's strange mannerisms and power—he hoped it would be enough to stop Velanna before Loghain throttled her. As hard as he tried to narrow his focus, the spell's hold thwarted him. He could barely move his eyes of his own will, let alone move something more substantial as his hands. The grip on her throat threatened to become tighter despite his efforts.

Dark spots appeared in his vision; they swirled and morphed before his eyes, blocking out large expanses of the room before him. A crushing, pounding sensation filled his chest as his heart beat frantically inside. Loghain knew that he had to push through the pain, to ignore all else in order to buy time: time for Lhiannon to disable Velanna, or time for Velanna to decide whether to hold the spell or save herself.

It was a matter of time, but time was also quickly running out.

* * *

The grip on her throat was crushing and relentless. Panic had flared to life within her, making her already racing heart beat even faster as her chest burned and demanded air. Lhiannon felt her left hand squeeze Velanna's neck harder, while her right hand came up to grab at the hands circling her own throat. Her fingers felt the warm band of a ring—one that she herself had given to the hand that was now fighting her—and followed the digit to a point where she could worm her own fingers around it. She grasped it and pulled the finger back and away. There was a cracking noise and, almost at once, she felt a small measure of relief from the hold on her throat, which allowed her to take a small gasp of air. She kept her grip on the finger, fighting to keep him from choking her once more. Her injured fingers started to throb again; she wouldn't be able to hold Loghain's finger back for long.

A sharp pain suddenly caught her under her arm, running from the hollow below the joint to the bottom of her ribs. Her skin felt even warmer under the gash and she could feel the wetness of blood. Velanna pulled her arm back, knife in hand, preparing to stab at Lhiannon again. Terror rose within Lhiannon at the precariousness of her situation; if she let go of Loghain's hand, the spell controlling him would compel him to choke her again. If she didn't let go, Velanna would continue stabbing at her in an attempt to free herself. It was rapidly becoming a no-win situation.

From inside, Justice felt the rising desperation within Lhiannon. It was a curious feeling, one that he had not experienced from a mortal before. There was a part of him that wished to explore this new sensation but, as he was a part of her, it would be of negligible benefit. After all, if she died while he inhabited her body, he would only be able to exist in it for so long before likely disappearing into oblivion. His own sense of self-preservation took hold; he knew that this battle would need to end quickly; if the human couldn't do it on her own, he would do it for her.

Justice searched Lhiannon's mind, sifting through it for more knowledge on both adversaries. He then compelled Lhiannon's hand to let go of Loghain, as the slashing knife was the greater threat in his assessment. He made that hand grab at the attacking elf and snatch the wrist holding the weapon. Justice used his strength to crush the elf's wrist; as he squeezed, he felt the bones inside grind together for a moment before they gave way under the pressure and snapped. Velanna's mouth opened wide as if to scream and she bucked wildly beneath them. He dropped Velanna's broken wrist and, using Lhiannon's free hand, picked up the bloody dagger that had fallen from the attacker's hand. Justice took the dagger and plunged it into the side of Velanna's neck, severing the artery that ran just below the skin. Blood spurted from the wound with every beat of Velanna's heart until, moments later, she went still, the knife protruding from her neck with Lhiannon's hand wrapped around the hilt. Human and elf blood mingled on the ground beneath them, one indistinguishable from the other.

Velanna's wide, unseeing eyes seemed to stare into Lhiannon's soul and accuse her of their path ending where it had. Lhiannon was horrified; horrified at how Velanna had turned so vengeful, and horrified at her own part in her downfall. When Velanna had abandoned the Wardens to find Seranni, Lhiannon had imagined… well, she wasn't exactly sure what she had imagined, but nearly strangling Velanna to death with her bare hands and then stabbing her like a savage wasn't the ending she had pictured. She was also horrified at the creature inside her and how easily he had taken over her body to do the deed. What had she done?

Lhiannon's grip on the knife subsided once the life ran out of Velanna. She let the dead woman go, pulling her hand away sharply. Sickened, Lhiannon retched what little was in her stomach, the contents burning her throat as she vomited. After the heaving subsided, she slumped to the side and landed on the ground next to the dead woman, her arms and hands shaking violently. Her breath came in rasping gulps, sweet despite the stench of taint and blood around her; sweet despite the guilt and dismay filling her.

* * *

_Translation for Velanna's phrase "__Emma shem'nan. Ar tu na'din_:" "My revenge is swift. I will kill you."

_Well, here comes the part where I apologize for the insanely long delay in both writing and replying to reviews. Real life just took hold and didn't want to let go. If I've missed your review and haven't replied, I sincerely apologize. I'm working to get back on track with writing and replying in a more expedient manner. Thanks so much for your support and patience._

_Lately, I've been taking inspiration for my chapters and titles from songs on my MP3 player. This chapter's title, and much of Lhiannon's point of view, was inspired by Queensryche's "Eyes of a Stranger." While the subject matter of the song is different, the lyrics can be applied here. "And I raise my head and stare / into the eyes of a stranger. / I've always known that the mirror never lies. / People always turn away / from the eyes of a stranger / afraid to know what lies behind the stare."  
_

_Wow... I have never written a chapter quite like this. My muse went very, vary dark here. I was actually ready to send this off to Suilven several weeks ago, but then it went through a major rewrite, especially the hand-to-hand parts with Velanna. For those of you that play Star Wars: The Old Republic, you might recognize the spell Velanna used when flinging stones at Lhiannon. It's an ability used by Jedi Consulars, "Telekinetic Throw." The Jedi hurls small stones at an opponent and reduces their movement speed. Since Velanna used nature based spells, I thought it would transition over nicely._

_Shameless self promotion: in the lag between chapters, "Retribution" celebrated its third birthday (holy cow!). Cake and ice cream were had by all. :p_

_Many thanks to reviewers Arsinoe, Suilven, Oleander's One, and Ventisquear. Thank you so much for your support; it is very much appreciated. To you quiet readers, many thanks to you as well. Your support has meant the world to me, especially when my writing resolve has flagged. _


	63. Aftermath

**_Massive thanks to my awesome beta and friend, Suilven. You've been a great help not only with my writing, but with your support. The last few weeks have been pretty craptacular, and your support has meant a lot! :)_**

* * *

The horror was gut wrenching, a physical feeling of revulsion that gripped Lhiannon's stomach so tightly that she forgot about the pain in her head and neck; forgot the pain in the weeping wounds that covered her body where Justice's power seemed to break through her skin; forgot the pain from the stab in her side and the slash to her hand. She wretched once more, feeling her eyes tear and her bladder loosen under the strain. She heard herself gag as her stomach tried to empty itself, but only bitter bile came forth. After a few moments, the retching subsided, leaving her aching and covered with a sheen of sour sweat. She opened her eyes and saw Velanna's body next to her, which threatened to send the waves of revulsion through her anew. Instead, it was the profound feeling of guilt at what she had done that filled the emptiness inside her. The hope that this was all a bad dream quickly fell by the wayside. She quickly squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will the image from her mind.

In her mind, she could feel Justice watching her, examining the strange feelings that coursed through her with an almost detached curiosity. No doubt the spirit was preparing to ask questions; she wasn't sure she was ready to answer them. In the urgency of the moment, allowing Justice to enter her and help free the Wardens had seemed to be the only way out but, in hindsight, was that decision the right one? Justice had led her to believe that her actions would be hers; instead, he had asserted himself in the heat of battle without warning. Perhaps _he_ should share some of this crushing guilt; after all, he was just as guilty as she… maybe even a little more so.

_Warden, _Justice's voice said, filling her ears from within, _why do you think this way? Your enemy is dead, having been given the justice she richly deserved. I do not claim to know mortals, but I would think that this would please you._

Lhiannon answered, doubting that the spirit would truly understand. _You took over my body! You just… just… _took it over!_ That was not our agreement! Yes, I accepted your offer to help me, but that didn't give you the right to just do what you wished with it!_

Even within the confines of her mind, her voice sounded shrill and slightly unhinged.

She felt her body warm as ire rose within her. Whether it was her own ire or that of Justice, Lhiannon was unsure. At least the anger helped her forget about the guilt, if only briefly.

_I am not sure I understand, Warden. As I have said, I have little experience with living mortals. When I was last in your realm, I could see inside the mind of Warden Kristoff and interpreted what I saw there to the best of my knowledge. He could not react to my presence, nor I to his, unlike what has just happened. In retrospect, did you not take me over as well? _Justice paused for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts. _Perhaps I erred in offering my help to you without knowing the consequences; perhaps you erred in accepting it._

Furious anger boiled over inside her as it suddenly reached a crescendo. This time, she _knew_ that she was the source of it. In that moment, she was sure of one thing, even if she was unsure about all else. _Get out, Justice! I want you _out_. Leave me!_

His voice was maddeningly calm despite the emotions roiling inside her; how could he sound so serene after what had happened? _Now is not the time, Warden; our lot has been cast. Other, more urgent matters are before us. The Architect still deserves his fate, as do those in league with him. Would you set our differences above that? _

Lhiannon would have screamed aloud, had Justice not tempered her voice. Again, he had asserted himself. _What part of 'get out' did you not understand, Justice? I have fought creatures far more dangerous than the Architect, and have done it without you. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but you _will _leave. Now._

The spirit was quiet for a moment, seemingly contemplating Lhiannon's demand. She did see his point about pursuing the Architect, but she didn't want him inside her during the quest; if one thing was clear, it was that the risks surrounding the unpredictably of their union potentially outweighed any benefit from it.

Lhiannon paused in her thoughts for a moment, listening for the still silent Justice. Though his voice was silent, she could still feel him at the back of her mind, either preoccupied or deep in thought. Despite her demand, she had to be honest with herself; it was only a matter of time before he stirred once more. She began to understand why the senior enchanters and the templars of the Circle drilled warnings about Fade spirits into the heads of the mages in training. Some entities would say—anything—promise anything—to obtain a human host. There were so many examples of spirit encounters gone awry; the Harrowing itself provided more than ample evidence of such.

What had her desperation driven her to?

As she waited, she could feel her patience rapidly waning. If it came down to it, could she somehow force Justice out? If she could extend an invitation, could she rescind it? If he was the benevolent creature he professed to be, he would abide by her wish. If not... the result of that was simply too horrifying to contemplate.

Within her, she finally felt Justice stir once more. A feeling of apprehension filled her at that moment, one that seemed to come from the entity himself; one that nearly overwhelmed her own feelings. She steeled herself, readying as best she could for a battle the likes of which she had never imagined fighting before. After all, expelling a demon that had already possessed a mage wasn't common practice in the Circle; the possessed mages were largely unable to answer questions about the possession and how to fight against it.

When he spoke, Lhiannon thought his words sounded hesitant. _Warden, what you have demanded may be possible, but it has become more complicated._

Before she could ask what he meant, something began to shake her.

* * *

Rarely had Loghain felt freedom as sweet as what he felt at this moment. When the hold of Velanna's spell had broken, he had fallen to his hands and knees and waited for the world to stop spinning around him. His limbs felt almost light, yet they also quivered and lacked strength; it was as if he had been fighting wave after wave of enemies on the battlefield with sword and shield and silverite armor. His body was weak and, as he took one deep breath after another, the fatigue began to settle into his bones.

Quickly following the fatigue was a deep throbbing pain, becoming more intense as the moments passed and the rush of battle continued to fade within him. His back and shoulders throbbed from being thrown into the wall and over the slab table. The finger in which his silverite band rested was swollen and turning an angry red color; he tried to bend it and hissed sharply at the pain that rushed up his arm. He closed his eyes and tried to will the pain in his body away. One breath after another, as deep as the pain within him would allow, helped to center him. The others needed help, but he would not be able to assist any of them if he allowed his pain and fatigue to get the best of him.

One breath in, one breath out, slowly and steadily, yet knowing that he couldn't remain long. His head began to clear somewhat after several moments, which was when he heard breathing sounds from in front of him. Loghain raised his head—blinking several times to clear his vision—and saw Lhiannon lying on her side, the body of Velanna next to her. With a groan of effort, he pushed his own fatigue aside and slowly crawled closer to her. If he could rouse her, she might be able to give them both what healing she could. It likely wouldn't be much, but it would help them until they could find Anders or their supplies. With a hand that visibly shook, he reached out and gently pulled a lock of long hair away from where it had covered her face.

The first thing that captured his attention was the dark marks on her neck. His hand stopped above them, quivering more than they had moments before. His hands had made those. Though he had fought as hard as he could against Velanna's spell, it hadn't been enough. As much as the guilt threatened to build within him, now was not the time to wallow in it; there would be time later to address what had happened. Guilt was something he had repressed before, though it never became easier with the passage of time.

Near the bruises, Loghain saw raw wounds snaking across her body, the places where her skin looked as if it had broken open under the stress of whatever power had been within her. Blood was seeping into her shirt, faster in some places than others. Her skin was paler than normal as well.

Loghain felt his brow furrow at the thought of her strange power and the wounds it had imparted onto her: the strange light that had emanated from her eyes and the marks on her skin; her altered voice; the raw power of her magic and the unusual strength. While he was no expert on the connection to the Fade that all mages possessed, he knew enough to realize now that Lhiannon had not only made contact with something there, but had made some sort of alliance with it. The consequences of that decision could be very problematic for all of them if word reached the wrong ears, let alone the costs to her. The consequences would be catastrophic if Lhiannon wasn't Lhiannon any longer. Loghain's stomach dropped at that thought. What would he do, if that was the case?

Another darker thought entered his mind. What if the situation with Lhiannon was similar to the one with Wynne? When Lhiannon had told him the story, he almost couldn't believe it: Wynne had been killed during Uldred's attempted coup at Kinloch Hold after the ill-fated battle at Ostagar. Wynne believed that this spirit had been her silent companion for years, saving her during the rebellion to fulfill some greater purpose. However, Lhiannon had explained, Wynne had also believed that the spirit was weakening and that her time was likely short.

Had Lhiannon been dying while she was in the Architect's captivity? It didn't make sense to Loghain; the Architect had wanted her alive, but was it possible that she had been injured to the point of death? Or, had she given up and sought death rather than allow the Architect to complete his plan? Was that when an entity had taken advantage and entered her in an effort to keep her alive?

_Had_ she actually died, like Wynne?

There were far too many questions for Loghain's liking, and only she could answer them.

In the short term, he needed to know how serious her injuries were... and if she was still herself. He let go of her hair, shifting his weight to get a better look at the wound in her side. His eyes immediately fell to the long slit in the dirty shift covering her, the result of Velanna's blade cutting into her. Very gingerly, he pulled the shift open at the slit and peered inside. The wound was bleeding freely and looked rather deep in spots. Loghain pressed his hand against the deepest part and gently shook her, hoping that the pressure would help staunch the flow while he roused her.

"Lhiannon, wake up. You must do heal this wound... now."

At first, she didn't move. Loghain shook her again, using slightly more pressure than before as he repeated himself. With a speed that surprised him, Lhiannon not only roused herself, but scrambled into a seated position and pushed herself back to rest against the nearby wall. Her breath came in ragged gulps and her glowing eyes were wide with what looked like fear. She held a hand out before her, an ominous orange glow covering her fingers and palm.

Loghain held his hands up in supplication; he needed to calm her quickly so that her wounds could be treated... and so that she didn't blast him with another spell in the process. "Lhiannon," he said, keeping his voice as calm, and as firm, as he could without spooking her further, "be still. Look at me. Let me help you."

There was a long pause in which they simply stared at each other, a divide between them that Loghain was unsure how to bridge without consequences to either of them. He kept himself still and calm, with only his chest moving as he took one breath after another. She needed to see that he wasn't a threat to her, but that wild-eyed and frightened look remained on her face. She watched him for several long moments before her breathing began to slow; her hand trembled noticeably as those seconds wore on. Finally, the orange glow of her spell began to flicker much like a candle in a drafty room.

"I know you," she said, her voice still containing the strange sibilance that it had had earlier. It was Lhiannon's voice, but there was an undertone that was deep and gruff. Recognition began to dawn on him; in the chaos earlier, Loghain hadn't had time to ponder the strangely familiar voice, but now he had a strong suspicion of who—what—this entity was.

"Who are you?" Loghain asked, his voice as blunt as the question.

Lhiannon's head tilted slightly as she studied him. For several heartbeats, Loghain was unsure of what she might still do until the orange aura around her hand shrank and disappeared, reabsorbed by her flesh. Slowly, her arm lowered into her lap; a grimace of pain crossed her face as she moved.

"You know me... as Justice," she said, her voice pained. Gingerly, she shifted her weight and brought a hand up to her wounded side. "I offered my assistance to the Warden, and she accepted it."

A pit formed in Loghain's stomach at the confirmation of his suspicion. He felt his brow furrow as he glared at the unnatural eyes before him and the creature that lurked inside them. Possession... what had she done, and what price would they all pay for it? What price would _she _pay for it?

He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Lhiannon's hand came into the space between them. "The memories in this mortal recognize the look on your face. You... doubt what I say."

Loghain scoffed. "Rarely do interactions with your kind benefit mortals. I'd rather such claims of assistance come from her directly."

"I give you my word; my intentions are... well meant." Lhiannon grimaced again; Loghain could see fresh blood seeping through her fingers. As he watched, a weak white aura appeared on her fingertips. She ran them along the slit in her shift, the words of the healing spell barely above a murmur. After a moment, her eyes closed; the words trailed off and her hand fell into her lap. Loghain fought the urge to shake her and rouse the spirit; it might have been the spirit inside her that had spoken, but it was still Lhiannon's body that would bear the brunt of Loghain's frustration.

Or was it still hers?

"What has happened to her?"

She stirred slightly. "The Warden is safe. I have protected her and will do so until I return to the Fade."

The phrase stung. Loghain felt his teeth clench as his hands balled into fists, the nails nearly cutting into the surface of his rough palms. Whether the spirit had meant it as a slight or a statement of fact, Loghain wasn't sure. Still, the thought that he had failed in his duty to not only her, but to the Wardens as well, was a bitter one. He did not need this creature to remind him of such. "So, leave. Return to the Fade."

Justice took a hitching breath through Lhiannon and blew it out through her nose as if he were speaking to a petulant child and was practicing restraint. "It is… a complicated matter. However, I assured the Warden that… I would do so."

"Complicated in what way?"

Lhiannon's head shook slightly. "You do not have the same connection to the Fade. You would not understand."

It was maddening to try and have a conversation with the entity; every so-called answer only led to more questions. Loghain had no patience for enigmatic words, but realized that he was unlikely to get information from Justice if the creature did not want to divulge it. It wasn't as if Loghain could use stronger methods of persuasion, as it wouldn't be Justice that bore the brunt of it. There was no leverage that Loghain could use against such a being. It was a position Loghain was rarely in, and one he was not fond of.

"Try me, _demon_."

Lhiannon's eyes flashed brighter; they then narrowed and glared at Loghain. "I am no demon, _mortal._ I am a spirit of justice; I defend those who have been wronged and bring retribution to those who champion corruption."

"I have only your word on that; you'll forgive me my skepticism." Loghain pointed at the creature. "You _will_ tell me how and when you will return to your realm and leave the Commander in peace."

"I must… wait for the appropriate place and time." Justice paused momentarily as he took several hitching breaths. "I, too, must consider my well-being in this situation. This body is weak, yet… there is still much to do."

"That's no answer."

Justice sighed through Lhiannon. "I know it is not, but we do not have… the luxury of time to delve into the intricacies of the Fade and the Veil." The spirit paused for a moment. "All I know is that the way I crossed over… is no longer open; it has been reinforced from the other side. More than that, I do not know. You must… trust me."

Loghain scoffed and opened his mouth, ready to retort that trusting such a creature was just about beyond his realm of possibility. The thought of Lhiannon being a host to this entity for time immeasurable was troublesome. Could the both of them live with a third between them? An interloper who would be listening to every conversation, present at every moment; even worse, Lhiannon's thoughts would never be hers alone. She would never have privacy.

It was then that another, more ominous thought crossed his mind: what if the creature did something, something that forced Loghain's hand and gave him no choice but to kill her in order to stop it? What if Justice decided that he never wanted to leave? The thought of Lhiannon becoming a raving abomination chilled him to the bone. Killing it... Would he do it? _Could_ he do it?

At this point, he had little choice. "Damned creature. I swear upon my life, if you renege on your word—"

Justice chuckled with Lhiannon's voice, though her eyes stayed closed.

"—I will hunt you in the Fade itself and end your miserable existence."

Slowly, Lhiannon's eyes opened, revealing the ethereal glow still within them. Justice shook her head slowly. "The Fade is my realm; it is… unlikely you would survive the encounter." Another grimace crossed her face. "Enough. We need to find the one called the Architect... find him and end him."

In the chaos of the last few minutes, the Architect had been pushed to the back of Loghain's mind. Justice had a point and, as much as he hated the thought of it, Loghain reluctantly agreed. If left to flee, there was no telling what the Architect would do. Loghain would need to find and free the others first, not to mention find some weapons, at the very least, before beginning the hunt.

"I want to talk to the Commander first."

There was another grimace and, when Justice spoke again, his words sounded pained. "You are... wasting time, mortal."

Loghain ground his teeth together, his already thin patience with Justice growing even thinner. He _knew_ that time was short, but this was something he would not negotiate. He needed to hear _her_ voice before he left; reassurance that she was still there, somewhere. "Then do as I command and I will go."

There was a hitching sigh from her. "I would seek to reason with you, but the Warden's memories tell me that you will simply persist until I relent, and time is… short indeed. If it will hasten the hunt... then so be it."

As he watched, the eerie glow that had been in her eyes faded, and the life that he recognized filled them. She blinked rapidly several times as if clearing her head before her attention focused on him in full.

"Loghain," she said, her voice weary, "are you...?" Her voice trailed off as she flinched again and groaned.

He paused briefly. "I could be better, but never mind me at the moment. You need healing."

"Yes. I think... I think I'm... still bleeding... my head hurts... hard to concentrate. I'll try."

He was silent for a moment as she cast an obviously weak spell, and he was torn between finding Anders and getting the healing that she desperately needed, and asking about what had transpired with Justice. As much as he needed to know about Justice, the concern for healing won out. "I will go find Anders. Rest; I'll not be long."

He stood but, before he could leave, he heard Lhiannon whisper his name.

"Loghain... wait. Justice..."

Loghain felt his stomach tighten. "What about Justice?"

"I'm so... sorry. I... I had to do... _something..._" Her eyes welled with tears; one slowly rolled down her cheek, leaving a trail of clean on her dirty skin.

Loghain reached out and cupped her cheek, brushing the tear away with his thumb. "We will deal with that later. Rest and save your strength."

"I had to... I had to... I couldn't..."

Loghain shuffled forward on his knees, gently shushing her as he rested a hand on each cheek, lowering his lips to her forehead to impart a light kiss. He needed to find Anders quickly, but didn't want to abandon her when she needed him there.

"I have to go," he said after a brief moment of respite.

"I know." Lhiannon nodded, then closed her eyes and rested her head against the rough wall. He stood, then placed his hand on her head for a moment, smoothing a small lock of mussed and matted hair. Loghain quietly lingered for a moment, wondering how they would, indeed, deal with Justice later.

* * *

_Can't wait for later. Waited long enough. Need to deal with..._

The thought trailed off as Nathaniel felt the tightening in his groin, the pleasure building as he moved his body faster until it finally broke and raced through him with a shudder. The satisfying feeling was fleeting, however; the tension and worry that had built over the last few days quickly overwhelmed the brief moment of respite.

"What is it? You have that look again."

He looked down at the woman beneath him, a childhood friend of the Howe children that had, for a number of years, been a bed partner to Nathaniel when there was need for an uncomplicated union. It was an easy relationship for Nathaniel and Sophia; she had been a confidant and friend long before he had become a Grey Warden.

Several years back, Sophia had spent time visiting family in Kirkwall for the winter; she was a relative of the family that Nathaniel had been sent to as a squire. During that winter, they had both shared a homesickness for Amaranthine; Marchers largely ignored foreign citizens, feeling that they had a less than desirable influence on 'their' culture. Nathaniel and Sophia, without question, had been out of place, and many Marchers had no qualms about reminding them of such through their cool demeanor. As a result, they had spent much of their free time together. While not every mutual visit had ended in bed, it had always been an option. It still was.

And, it wasn't as if Rendon hadn't done much the same thing while Nathaniel was growing up, the exception being that Nathaniel didn't have to pay for Sophia's companionship, unlike his father and _his_ female companions.

Nathaniel looked down at Sophia, who had quirked an eyebrow up as she waited for him to respond. "I have a lot on my mind."

"So you've said." Sophia turned onto her side as Nathaniel slid off her. He propped his head on his hand, his gaze focused over Sophia and onto the sky outside the nearby window. There were so many things on his mind that he didn't know which issue should take precedence over the others. While lost in thought, He hadn't realized that she had spoken again until she reached up and playfully tugged at one of his braids.

"Hey!"

"Hay is for horses; straw's cheaper," she replied with a mischievous smirk. Nathaniel rolled his eyes, but couldn't hold back the grin that pulled his lips upward. "Are you going to tell me what's on your mind, or do I have to start guessing?"

Nathaniel brought up his free hand and rubbed his face, the stubble on his skin whispering slightly as his hand passed over it. "It's a long story. I'm not sure where to even begin."

Sophia shifted on the bed, propping her head on her hand so that she was at eye level with him. "Grey Wardens' getting to you?"

"No, it's not that," Nathaniel replied with a shake of his head. "Not entirely, anyway." He thought back to his meeting with Nedra several days ago and what he had observed and heard from Amaranthine since then: the increase in the templar population; the rationing of lyrium; the cool reception he had received from the merchants when he had wanted to buy lyrium for the Wardens' inventory. Not only had that concerned him, but the latest scheduled message from the Commander hadn't yet arrived. While he knew that they could be facing anything in the area of the archdemon's emergence that would delay a message, he also knew that Loghain's fastidious nature wouldn't tolerate a delay for very long. Perhaps he should send a runner to the Dalish camp to find Sergeant Joanna and the men from Amaranthine and get an update from them.

Nathaniel began to turn the idea over in his mind. It would be several days before the runner would get there, and then there was the time to send the message back; using a bird would save a bit of time, but he'd rather have an account from the runner. A bird could bring back a short message, whereas a man could bring back something more.

On the other hand, he could send a Warden instead; their constitution would allow them to push harder toward the camp than a regular runner, but then he had to think about horses; their stamina was finite as well. Either way, Nathaniel was likely looking at the better part of a fortnight until he could receive any sort of information, unless a message arrived from the Commander in the interim. That thought left him uneasy; much could happen in a fortnight.

But, if he chose a Warden, who would he even send? That was _another_ thing weighing on his mind. They hadn't had much opportunity to vigorously recruit new Wardens; that, Nathaniel knew, was on Lhiannon's list of things to do when she returned from the breach. She had discussed a trip to Kinloch Hold for mages and another to Orzammar. The latter was likely to be a longer trip; she wished to discuss recruitment, the opportunity to secure the roads to the abandoned thaigs during the Thaw, and the reports of increased lyrium mining. However, there hadn't been a firm timeline set, so he didn't know when those trips would take place, only that she had wished to take them sooner rather than later. She had planned on setting the details after dealing with the breach.

In the meantime, there _were_ the recruits that had arrived from Denerim: Nesiara, Gavon, and Kamot from the alienage; Xanen, Donovon, Joryk, and Eva from the soldiers at Fort Drakon; the former templar, Harrith. Perhaps it was best to just perform the Joinings right away rather than put them through additional training at the Vigil, especially the soldiers from the fort...

The light slap to his chest brought Nathaniel out of his reverie. Sophia looked at Nathaniel again, this time with a look of genuine concern on her face as she sat up in the bed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel said. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and lowered his head, running his fingers through his tangled locks. "Lost in my thoughts again."

"Anything I can help with? I'd offer another romp but I doubt that will help."

A small chuckle escaped Nathaniel's lips. Normally, he'd take Sophia up on the offer, but there was a lot he needed to do. But, maybe...

"Sophia, have you seen any unusual activity around your family's warehouse?"

"Well, one man's unusual is another man's business opportunity," she said as she reached over the side of the bed to gather her smallclothes. She stood and stepped into them.

Sophia and her three siblings ran a small warehouse on Amaranthine's harbor, recently repaired after the attack by the Mother's darkspawn army. Two of her brothers and a small group of laborers fished in the waters off the coast, mostly catching cod for pickling or smoking. She and another brother ran the day-to-day operations of the warehouse, storing a variety of goods that had either been offloaded from recently docked ships or were waiting to be loaded onto departing vessels. Business had been meager in the aftermath of the recent battle, but had begun to stabilize of late.

"Lots of demand for fish," she began as she pulled a colorful shift over her head. "The boys are considering either renting another ship and crew to catch more or just commissioning a new vessel of our own." She paused for a moment as she adjusted the braids on her head. "If the templars keep coming in as they have of late, we might as well just buy the thing. Templars need to eat. We're also running tight on space inside, too; they bring a lot of stuff with them: foods, textiles, reagents, and vials. More goods have been coming in by ship rather than going out of late." Sophia suddenly shuddered slightly as a look of revulsion crossed her face. "We've even seen more of those Tranquil come in, too... the ones with the Chantry sunburst on their foreheads. They're so... strange."

Nathaniel frowned. He stood and picked up his trousers and smalls from where they lay on the floor. "Really?"

Sophia nodded. "I've seen a few of them come over with the templars. Can't be too careful with the new Circle tower in Highever. That could be why templars from Kirkwall are coming here; they know how to keep mages on a short leash."

Nathaniel listened to Sophia as he pulled on his clothes, slightly adjusting the trousers on his slender frame before tying the laces. He turned to face her and saw that concern still on her face. "Will you let me know if you see anything unusual at the docks? Anything at all?"

"Sure," she agreed, her expression changing to one of puzzlement. "Are you expecting something? You're not expecting the darkspawn again, are you?"

"No, no darkspawn. I don't think we need to worry about them for the time being."

Nathaniel couldn't help but feel that the templars and tranquil were as pieces on a game board, ones being moved into precise positions for some sort of action later. He normally would have chastised himself for being so paranoid but, given what had transpired at the Landsmeet and the comments of the former Arl of Redcliffe and his allies, it seemed as if that was what was happening.

Another thought then came to him: Sophia hadn't seemed particularly bothered by the increase in templars coming to Ferelden. In fact, she seemed almost pleased that they were ready to watch over the new Circle in Highever. Was her opinion that of the general populace of Ferelden? Were people accepting of the increased templar presence? Were they concerned about the status of the Circle in Ferelden and, consequently, the Crown's policies toward it? Was there concern about the Grey Wardens as well?

But, how could Nathaniel find answers to those questions? He would certainly ask Harrith if he knew anything but, given his status as a disgraced templar, he might not know much. There was, however, another Warden he could ask; maybe he would still have friends within the order that could help shed light on this mystery. Maybe he could use his position to influence them.

Nathaniel escorted Sophia to the main gate of the Vigil where a carriage to Amaranthine awaited. He bade her farewell and she reiterated her promise to tell him of any unusual happenings at the docks. After seeing her safely off, he went to the stables to speak to the groom about readying a horse.

He had a trip to Denerim to plan. But, first, there were Joinings to perform.

* * *

_I'm not sure how many of you are still following along, but thank you so much for doing so! I've been trying to write a little more in recent weeks - and actually have almost an entire future chapter written as a buffer - so here's to hoping the muse continues to cooperate. Extra special thanks to Ventisquear, Wyl, Arsinoe, Suilven, and Seika for their reviews and kind words! You all rock!  
_

_Also, Suilven gets the credit for the chapter title. I was drawing a complete blank on one and she swooped in and saved the day. You're the best!_


	64. Give Me a Sign

**_Massive thanks to my beta extraordinaire and friend, Suilven, for all of her help with this chapter. Writes, rewrites... she did it all! Thank you, my friend!_**

* * *

_Wha... what the... where... That's it; no more of Oghren's swill before bed. I… think it was swill... hard to remember..._

After taking a deep breath in an attempt to clear his head, Anders opened his eyes and saw himself standing in the hazy, smoky landscape of the Fade. The omnipresent Black City hung in the distant sky, indistinct as always. As was his habit whenever he found himself in the raw Fade, Anders rubbed his eyes to try and clear the blurriness from his vision. And, also as usual, he scoffed and chastised himself for the gesture. The Fade never changed... unless something _made_ it change.

Around him, the Fade was noisy this time; it sounded like guttural growls and haunting screams coming from all around him. Flashes of magic lit the sky, reflecting off of the Fade's strange landscape. Turning to the left he could see a creature standing amidst others scattered at its feet, as if physical combat had taken place. What looked like several rage and sloth demons lay at the feet of the brightly glowing entity, one that he soon recognized as the spirit of valor that had been his benefactor and aide for as long as he could remember. Next to Valor was a wavering oval shape in the air. Within that oval, the Fade looked more like solid rock and not like the ethereal landscape around him.

It looked like a tear in the Veil.

A swirling mist began to materialize not far from Valor. It grew darker and coalesced as it approached. Anders saw a desire demon emerge from within, its sinewy body moving with a perverted grace. The demon saw Anders and grinned, showing off teeth sharpened to long points. Anders prepared for battle, but was surprised when the demon turned and moved off toward Valor instead. It began to speak in a strange hissing language as it called out what could only be a challenge. When Valor turned to confront the demon, four others materialized around it, hissing and snarling as they slashed at Valor with taloned hands.

Anders heard himself scream as the largest of the demons pounced on Valor. He raised his hands and prepared to call upon his mana when the Fade began to grow dark around him.

"No! Valor—"

With a start Anders opened his eyes and remembered where he was. It was dim, the darkness broken by a small glowing sconce on the wall nearby. His head pounded and he shivered, feeling himself curled up into a ball in an effort to keep warm on the chill ground. The hairs on the back of his neck rose when he realized that he wasn't alone any longer; someone was tugging at the bonds that held his wrists together behind him. A wave of fear rushed through him, not only at being startled and moved by someone, but also at what he had just seen in the Fade and the memories of how he came to be in this dark, dank place. He twisted his head back as far as his stiff body would allow; from the corner of his eye saw that it was Loghain behind him. The man looked dirty and disheveled, but Anders could see the firm look of determination on his face.

"Are you injured?" Anders said as Loghain pulled the last of his bonds free. The older man quickly jerked Anders into a seated position. His already aching arms protested the abrupt movement.

"Ow, hey—"

"I am fine," Loghain insisted, his voice more gruff than usual. "Get up. The Commander needs your help more than I do."

As Loghain reached out to pull Anders to his feet, Anders could more clearly see some of the other man's injuries. What Anders had first thought was dirt was actually blood; it coated the lower part of his face and had run in rivulets from both ears and the corner of one eye. One of his fingers was swollen beyond the silverite ring on it; that wasn't coming off anytime soon, not without taking the finger off, anyway. Through tears in his bloodied shirt, Anders observed what looked like dark bruising on his ribs. He saw Loghain wince slightly as he moved; despite his protestations, Loghain was certainly hurting more than he had let on.

Anders drew upon his mana, secretly alarmed at both the lack of power he suddenly felt and the relative slowness at which it gathered. A faint blue light surrounded his hands as he began to speak the healing words while hoping that his voice didn't betray his concerns. "You are far from fine, Loghain."

With a speed that defied his obvious injuries, Loghain grabbed Anders' wrists and clenched them hard. The blue light was quickly snuffed out.

"I don't give a damn about me now," Loghain said as he released Anders' wrists with an angry downward thrust; the mage immediately began massaging one. "The Commander has been stabbed in her side and the wound is still bleeding. She's—"

"Maker's breath, Loghain," Anders interrupted, his voice indignant. "Why didn't you say so earlier? Has she tried to heal herself?"

"Yes, she tried, I don't know how much healing was done. She's..." His voice dropped off.

Anders gave Loghain a perplexed look. "What? She's what?"

"Justice… is with her. Inside her."

It felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach; Anders couldn't believe what he had just heard. His mouth dropped open for a moment while his whirling mind attempted to gather its thoughts. "_Justice_? You mean that she's an... _abomination_? How?"

A dark expression crossed Loghain's face. For a brief moment, Anders thought Loghain might strike him. He took a menacing step toward Anders with hands clenched. "She is _not_ an abomination!"

Thoughts raced through Anders' mind as his stomach twisted into knots. Why had she joined with the Fade entity? She had never shown any predisposition or desire to interact with Fade spirits in the past. What had changed her mind? Anders felt his stomach heave uncomfortably; Lhiannon was one of his oldest friends... she was one of the closest things to a real family that he had. Why had she done this? His heart felt like it was about to shatter into fragments.

"I... I can't believe this. I have to see," Anders said as he moved toward the door of the room he had been held in. "I have to see her for myself. I... I need my staff and some lyrium."

"We have to move quickly," Loghain said, passing Anders and taking the lead as they moved through the dim hallway toward Lhiannon. "Heal her; then we need to find the Architect before he gets too far away." Silence filled the space between them, with only the sound of their hurried footsteps breaking it.

When Loghain spoke again, his voice was low. "Justice is, unfortunately, not the main issue before us... no matter how hard I wish it was so. The Architect must be dealt with."

Anders nodded, but kept his reservations to himself. Loghain didn't need to hear any of the stories Anders knew about possession by Fade entities. Few ended well.

Silence once more fell between them, which allowed Anders' thoughts to focus on his own problem. A sense of nervousness and dread filled Anders at the thought of his abilities. Based on his Fade dream and the startling lack of power he had felt moments before, he wasn't sure how much healing he would be able to do and how quickly. "Loghain, there's something you need to know."

Loghain kept a brisk pace as they walked, forcing Anders to lengthen his strides to keep up with the taller man. "What?"

"I'm not sure that healing her will be as easy for me as it was before."

Loghain abruptly stopped and turned to face Anders. His hand gripped the upper part of Anders' arm, squeezing it tightly, almost desperately. Anders held back a grimace as Loghain's cold eyes regarded him. "Speak plainly. What do you mean?"

"When you came to free me, I was in the middle of a Fade dream—" Anders winced as Loghain's fingers dug even more deeply into the flesh of his arm.

"This is about a bloody _dream_?" Loghain said, his teeth clenching together as he spoke the last word. "The Commander needs your help and you want to discuss some sort of _dream?"_

Now, Anders felt his own ire rise. He jerked his arm free from Loghain's grasp—which took considerable effort—and leveled his own cool stare at the other Warden. "It was no mere dream, Loghain." Anders paused briefly, taking a deep cleansing breath and letting it out; he could still feel the impression of Loghain's fingers in his arm. "You remember that I'm a special type of healer called a spirit healer, right?"

"Yes. And?"

"_And_ it means that I have a… unique… connection to the Fade. There is a spirit on the other side—he calls himself Valor—and he can channel his own power into me. His power augments my own, making my healing spells more potent."

It was a subtle reaction, but Anders could see Loghain's expression change. His cool stare became a little wider. His teeth unclenched and lips parted slightly, lending an air of confusion to his features. As quickly as the expression appeared, Loghain steeled his face again, brows furrowing as he contemplated Anders' words. "Tell me, quickly and in _plain_ words, what that means."

Anders took another deep breath and let it out. "I saw Valor standing next to what looked like a breach in the Fade; I could see what looked like a rough rock wall through it."

"Like here."

"Yes," Anders said, nodding slightly. "It could be a tear in the Veil. At any rate, it looked like Valor was guarding it."

"But?"

Anders nodded again. "Valor wasn't alone. I saw the bodies of dead demons all around him, like he had fought them. Worse, he was surrounded by other demons attacking him."

Loghain's brows drew downward, his eyes narrowing. "What does that mean?"

"Something has happened to Valor, I think. I can't feel his touch—for lack of a better word—when I gather my mana."

Loghain's voice dropped a notch. "Do you think it is dead?"

"I don't know, Loghain. I simply don't know." Anders shrugged slightly. "I can try to find him the next time I wander the Fade, but who knows when that will be."

"What of the tear? If it's open, shouldn't the area surrounding it be swarming with demons?"

"It might be," Anders said. "But, I don't know where the tear _is_. It could be here, or it could be somewhere else."

"Even so, you can still heal the Commander, correct?"

"I hope so."

* * *

There was an eerie silence around her, a sharp contrast to what was happening _inside_ her. Justice hadn't said much in the last few minutes but he was nonetheless busy. Lhiannon couldn't control the rush of emotions raging through her as Justice probed her memories to satisfy his curiosity about this living host. She nearly laughed out loud despite the despair inside her as Justice found a memory from the streets of Orzammar not long after Harrowmont had been brought to power.

They had been walking through the Commons area of the city, looking to stock up on what supplies they could before heading for the surface. Oghren had been acting as a guide of sorts, pointing out which shops didn't grossly overcharge the "cloudheads" that occasionally shopped there. As they had walked, a troupe of street performers from one of the artisan castes had gathered an audience of cackling dwarves. Oghren, who had been somewhat reserved in the hours after leaving the Deep Roads, had elbowed Lhiannon in the side and pointed toward the performers; he had singled out a juggler who had stumbled and gasped as the balls he had been juggling dropped to the ground around him.

"It's not that the man didn't know _how_ to juggle," Oghren had said, "he just didn't have the balls to do it."

It had been a bad pun, but it had made Lhiannon laugh in a way that she hadn't in some time. And, now, it had made Justice laugh through her. It was unsettling... having her most intimate emotions and memories rummaged through by a complete stranger.

She nearly laughed again at that irony.

As Justice moved on from the memory, Lhiannon felt the despair weigh heavily on her once more. Hot tears burned her eyes and her throat felt tight as she tried to fight them back. While she did so, she noticed that her heart began to flutter uncomfortably in her chest. Her head, which had already been paining her, began to feel dizzy as well. She knew that she had to cast what healing spells she could on herself, but her thoughts were becoming fuzzy and she was finding it hard to concentrate on the words. It was disconcerting, as there had been many times in which she had had to cast while injured and had not had such difficulty.

Nonetheless, she had to try. Behind her closed eyelids, she tried to picture the words to the healing spell one by one. They swam into her vision in blurry images, but dissolved as soon as they materialized. She felt her eyes squeeze even more tightly shut as she summoned the words again. The mana inside her began to stir sluggishly, then faded as her concentration broke at the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching.

A gentle hand gripped her shoulder. "Lhi, are you awake?"

* * *

Anders watched with mounting concern as Lhiannon groaned softly at his touch. She didn't look good at first glance, and he could feel the weight of Loghain's stare on his back. Her eyes struggled to open, but she managed a weak nod.

"Okay, good," Anders replied. "Stay with us, Lhi."

Loghain had mentioned a stab wound in her side. Anders had no need to ask which side Loghain had meant, as he saw the blood soaking her shirt and the small pool of it on the ground next to her. He leaned forward—grimacing slightly as his eyes passed over Velanna's body—and parted the slit in Lhiannon's shift to get a better look at the wound. With a flick of his wrist, a wisp appeared, giving him a bit more light than what the sconces in this room provided. The deepest part still bled freely; deep, but he had seen worse. There was also a chance of the wound festering, which might still happen despite what he could do to heal it. He had nothing to properly cleanse the wound with before healing it, which added to his unease.

What further drew his concern and curiosity were the long wounds that snaked their way over her skin. Not only did they weep, but there was a residual feeling of magic in them… around _her_. He remembered what Loghain had said about Justice being inside her; his gut told him that these wounds were somehow involved.

"Well?"

Anders nearly jumped out of his skin at Loghain's simple word, one that was both question and demand at the same time. "I'd feel better if I could clean the wound with something before I healed it—"

"We don't have anything, so stop wasting time and heal it," Loghain said. "I must find the others; I will return here before we begin the hunt for the Architect."

Anders nodded and began to draw upon his mana as Loghain's footsteps faded. There was definitely a difference in the amount and feel of it; something surrounding Valor had changed, and whether it was permanent or not, he couldn't say. With eyes closed in concentration, he placed his hand on the deepest part of the wound and let the magic flow through him, willing the skin to knit itself back together. The magic tickled across his palm at the places where it left his body and leached into hers.

"The one you know as Valor exists no more."

With a startled gasp, Anders opened his eyes and the flow of the spell abruptly stopped. Lhiannon had opened her eyes. Anders saw that the whites were too bright; it was almost painful to look into those strangely glowing eyes from so close. He shook his head slightly, seeking to clear the confused thoughts from his mind. With that single phrase and the strange sibilance in her voice, Anders understood what Loghain had meant when he had said Lhiannon was different.

"What do you mean?"

Lhiannon shifted slightly, her hand moving to rest on the wound Anders had just been healing. "Valor knew that the demons would flock to the weakness in the barrier between the worlds. He had little choice but to confront them."

"Tell me, Justice," Anders began, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. Over time, he now realized, he had grown dependent on Valor's assistance. It had been so long… Anders couldn't remember the last time he had cast a spell that Valor hadn't had a part in. Their joint effort had been symbiotic, something that just _was_. Now, the bond was truly no more, and Anders suddenly felt weak and vulnerable without it. "Tell me what happened to Valor."

Lhiannon's eyes squeezed shut and a grimace crossed her features. A humming noise came from her throat as if she was expending a great deal of effort or concentration on something. Several long seconds passed as Anders watched Lhiannon; he was unsure of what was happening, but grew concerned as she started to tremble. Her lips parted slightly and the humming noise from within her became a low groan. The residual aura of magic around her wounds began to waver. Anders felt himself frozen in place as he watched, his curiosity outweighing any alarm he might have felt.

With a sharp gasp, Lhiannon sat up straight and opened her eyes. This time, it was _her_; her eyes were as they had been for as long as Anders had known her_. _She started to fidget."Wha..."

"Whoa, easy now," Anders said as he rested a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back to rest against the rock wall. "I haven't finished healing you yet."

"Where... where are the others?" she asked. Anders couldn't help but hear the exhaustion in her voice.

"Loghain's gone to find them. Now, keep still. Don't make me cast a sleep spell on you."

"Don't. I'd have... nightmares..."

Anders gave her shoulder what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. He gathered his concentration and mana as he prepared the words to the healing spell once more. Warmth flowed through his arms to his hands, trickling from his palms and fingers and into Lhiannon's wounds. The flesh knit itself together as the mana spilled from him to her once more. Her breathing became steadier and a bit of color returned to her skin. She appeared to relax slightly, her eyes remaining closed as she rested. Sooner than he had hoped, Anders felt the reserves of mana within him empty, and yet several barely healed wounds still remained. Thankfully, though, the worst of the wound to her side had healed. She might be scarred from that one and some of the other snaking wounds, but there was little Anders could do at the moment. Perhaps, after Loghain had found the others and their supplies, he could take some lyrium to replenish his mana and heal her again; he would also take a few moments to clean her wounds as best he could.

Until then, there was little he could do until Loghain returned. With a small sigh, Anders sat back on his heels and motioned to Velanna, even though Lhiannon's eyes were still closed and she couldn't see the gesture. "What happened here?"

He saw a grimace cross her face as her eyes squeezed more tightly together. As small consolation, her voice sounded a bit stronger when she spoke. "I did this. Justice did this. There was... no negotiating. I saw what she was doing to Loghain... and... I couldn't do anything. They were going get their way... and Justice offered to help." She paused for a moment, her jaw clenched shut and throat working as if she was trying to hold her emotions in check. She spoke through clenched teeth. "Then, I wanted her to be punished for what she did to us, to _all _of us. For deserting us and betraying us. Justice helped, but I don't know the cost."

"Is Justice still there? Listening to us? "

"I don't know. Probably. Yes." She opened her eyes; there was a look of deep sadness there. "I don't know... what I've done... I don't know what the consequences will be. I don't know how to live with this."

Anders felt his lips press tightly together. He shrugged. "I don't think we _can_ know, Lhi. Not for certain, anyway. We'll have to take things as they come." Though he said the words, he could guess what would happen if word were to spread beyond the Wardens... if the wrong people heard.

"I want to blame her for this, but I'm to blame, too." Her voice fell slightly, and Anders leaned in closer to hear her. "I drove her away. What kind of leader does that?"

"Lhi, she _left_ of her own accord. She put her desire to find her sister before her duty as a Grey Warden. She incapacitated Sigrun so that she could leave undetected. You owe her nothing." He pointed to Velanna's corpse. "In many places, this is the end result of desertion and treason."

"But we wouldn't even _be_ in this position if I had been a better leader."

"You don't know that."

"Andy, I swear, sometimes, I curse Alistair for putting me in this position." Lhiannon brought a hand up to her face and wept into it. Anders reached out and pulled her into a gentle hug, trying to offer what comfort he could.

Words escaped him as she continued to weep against him. One of his hands moved gently up and down her back; he wanted to reassure her somehow, but was inwardly shocked at how distinct her bones felt beneath the surface of her skin. He had seen the dark circles of worry under her eyes before they had ventured down here, but he hadn't realized how thin she had become in the days and weeks leading up to this. The healer in him knew that it was a concern he would have to discuss with Loghain as both her husband and second in command. Knowing the taciturn Warden, however, he likely had seen this already and had kept it between the two of them as a private matter. If there was one thing that Anders knew for certain, it was that both of the Mac Tirs needed to learn to share their burdens with their comrades.

After several moments, her weeping calmed and she began to relax, though she still occasionally sniffled or had a hitch in her breath. As much as he hated the thought of bringing Valor up now, Anders had to be honest with Lhiannon; she needed to know about his diminished ability. He pulled his arms from Lhiannon and helped her recline against the wall again. She let him guide her into place, but winced slightly as her wounds likely pained her. Once she was settled, he reached for the bloodied dagger that rested nearby and used it to cut strips of cloth from his robe. They weren't as clean as he'd like for bandages, but they would, at least, keep the wounds from getting dirtier.

He started to wrap the wound on her hand when he spoke. "Lhi, my power isn't what it used to be, now that Valor is gone."

"We'll... have to make do." She paused for a moment before speaking again. "I want Justice _gone_."

Anders turned Lhiannon's bandaged hand over and wound the ends of the cloth strip around her wrist to anchor it. He paused in thought for a moment before knotting the bandage in place. "Are you sure? If he can augment your power—"

"_I don't want it!_ I was desperate. I... I can't control it. I know now that _it_ can control _me_ whenever it wants. All I have is his word that he will leave, but..." She leveled a stern look at Anders. "I know what you're thinking. It's a bad idea, Andy. Don't even think about it."

But, he _had_ already been thinking about it. He had been able to call upon Valor for aid when he needed it and, as time passed, Valor would simply _know_ when Anders needed him. He would intercede through that unique connection to the Fade that all mages had. But, to have that power anchored within him rather than in the Fade was an intriguing prospect.

Or, would _he_ become an abomination of sorts? Would Justice control his actions as well? His _life_? He looked into Lhiannon's eyes and saw the anguish inside them. She was clearly struggling—could he take this burden from her, regardless of the consequences?

His head whirled with questions.

Perhaps, would Justice make him more powerful as a healer? Would it augment his offensive spells to protect the others? Would he be able to heal the worst of wounds and save lives that would otherwise be lost?

"Can you open the Veil?"

Lhiannon's voice brought Anders from his musing. He focused on her face and saw a mixture of hope and desperation in her features. A pit opened in his stomach; he didn't want to give her the answer that he knew deep in his gut, as it would dash the hope that she held; that was something he couldn't bear. With Valor gone and his power diminished, there was no way he could accomplish such a feat on his own. Not here; not now.

"Lhi, I—"

Anger flashed in her eyes. "Damn it, Anders. Can you do it or not? You did it before… in the Blackmarsh."

The memory immediately came forward: Anders casting the spell… with Valor on the other side, using their shared connection to augment the magic. Sundering the Veil hadn't been easy then, even with how thin it was after the chaos the Baroness had inflicted on the area; he could only imagine the near impossibility of doing it now.

Anders sighed. "I don't think I can." As he explained why the spell had little chance of success, he watched the hope begin to fade from her eyes.

"What if I helped?" she asked. "I admit, such spells aren't my strong suit, but I can follow your lead."

"You're still hurt. You need to heal first." Anders shook his head. "Even with your help, I don't know if it would be enough."

"Maybe I can harness Justice's power… that would be enough, wouldn't it?"

It was a possibility, but one that Anders wasn't sure about. He scratched the stubble on his chin, contemplating the option. Without a link to the Fade, he wasn't certain about how much mana or power they would need to sunder the Veil. Everything—everyone—was on _this_ side; the other side was a complete unknown. When it came to the Fade, the unknown was potentially dangerous. If they opened the Veil in the wrong place—like where he had last seen Valor—they could be quickly overwhelmed by demons.

"_No!_ Damn—"

Anders returned his attention to Lhiannon and saw the unnatural glow begin to brighten her eyes. She lowered her head and brought her hands up to her scalp, grabbing handfuls of her hair and yanking hard as a guttural yowl began to emerge from her lips. Her head whipped up and she stared at Anders with wide eyes, her mouth gaping open as the groan cut itself off. It was as if her eyes had frozen Anders in place; all he could do was stare at what he knew was a transformation within her. Her eyes grew brighter still as she stared at him, silently imploring him to do _something._ Before Anders could even begin to shape a thought as to what he _could_ do, her hands released the hair within them and moved to her lap. The glow in her eyes was steady and bright.

Lhiannon was gone.

* * *

It had been disconcerting, watching the war within Lhiannon's eyes. Anders had been mesmerized, both unable to do anything to help her, and unsure of what he _could_ do to help her. If matters were as she had said, Justice would most likely repel an attack or any attempts to usurp him.

Those eyes were looking at him now, intent as they studied him. Did Justice know about him; his life? His abilities? It would make sense, as he and Lhiannon were sharing one corporeal body. In contrast, Valor only knew what Anders had shared about himself; Valor hadn't physically inhabited his body when assistance had been rendered. What had happened to Lhiannon was completely different.

"You look at me strangely," Lhiannon's voice said. That faint sibilance was there again, further confirmation that it was Justice using her to speak.

Anders raised a brow. "Well, it isn't every day I see one of my closest friends made into an abomination. Sort of."

Justice snorted. "I am no demon, as I have already stressed to the mortal called Loghain." Lhiannon's bandaged hand rose in front of her face; Justice studied the rag that covered it for a moment before turning his attention to Anders. "I know you are vexed. I heard what you and the Warden talked about."

"Eavesdropping, were you?"

Justice waved the bandaged hand in the air as if to dismiss Anders' comment. "You are worried that you will be something less, now that Valor is gone."

It was true. Anders looked down at the floor, averting the piercing gaze that Justice was giving him. He had taken Valor for granted, Anders knew that now. "I would be lying if I denied that. There's truth in what you say."

Justice leaned forward slightly, those glowing eyes commanding Anders' attention. "Think on this: what say you to an arrangement that benefits both of us?"

Anders reached up and stroked the stubble on his chin. It had grown longer than he preferred; while a bit of stubble was nice—it gave him a roguish look that he rather liked—he wasn't fond of growing a full beard. The small hairs on the back of his neck rose along with his wariness. "What sort of arrangement?"

Justice leaned back against the wall again. "This mortal has made it clear that I am no longer welcome; I will comply with her request." Lhiannon's eyes looked away briefly, scanning the room around them. She cocked her head to one side as if listening for something. As Anders could hear nothing, he felt his brow wrinkle in confusion.

A moment later, she returned her gaze to him. "I believe there is another tear in the Veil nearby that I can use to return to my realm. There is no need to sunder the Veil any more than necessary."

"I'm sensing a 'but' here."

Lhiannon's brows furrowed and a quizzical looked crossed her face. After a second or two, her eyes widened slightly and her head moved in a small nod. "Ah, you sense some sort of condition or caveat from me. I assure you, I intend to keep my word and return to the Fade." Now, it was Justice's turn to appear reticent. "However, I do not wish to leave this realm."

It was an unconscious gesture, but Anders felt his hands clench tightly, so tightly that his nails dug into the flesh of his palm. "I think you'd best clarify that, Justice. Lhiannon is very adamant that you leave."

Lhiannon's shoulders shrugged slightly. "I have, quite against my own better judgment, become intensely curious about your realm. There are many experiences here that are unknown to my kind in the Fade; ones that I could not completely comprehend within the one called Kristoff. They are fascinating to me."

Anders felt his brow furrow once more. Justice had, apparently, become a Fade spirit that expressed an interest in the lives of mortals. There was an advantage to that as a mage, but also danger. All mages knew the tales of abominations; after all, wasn't that the point of the Harrowing? A test against the spirits of the Fade? Yet, Lhiannon had accepted Justice into her, and she did not appear to be a raging, dangerous abomination. She didn't want Justice to be a part of her... but that didn't mean someone else wouldn't benefit from a similar arrangement.

Anders paused for a moment, inwardly shocked at his reaction. He had just witnessed Justice forcibly usurp control of Lhiannon's body. She had obviously struggled against it but Justice had nonetheless won that battle… and he was _considering_ Justice's offer? If Justice could just push Lhiannon aside that easily, could he do the same thing to him?

It was possible, of course, but Anders had something that Lhiannon didn't: experience. Anders already knew what it was like to hold the power of a spirit inside of him, whereas Lhiannon had no such understanding. Granted, Valor had been beyond the Veil, but the power had still flowed between them. Anders had bent and molded it to his will for years—he had both called upon and dismissed the power without a struggle. In a way, Anders had _already_ shared himself with a Fade spirit and bore no ill effects from it.

As much as he didn't like viewing his friend in a negative light, it was clear that Lhiannon would not—_could _not—cooperate with Justice.

Could _he_?

As the realization of the answer dawned in his mind, guilt quickly washed over him. How swift he was to consider replacing Valor rather than face the dangers of the world alone—like most mages did for their _entire lives_. Still, those dangers were great and much would be required from them all to defeat them. If it meant an advantage against their enemies, Anders felt that he would be a fool to not consider it.

Apparently, he _could _dismiss Valor that quickly. The guilt, however, was a different matter.

He looked to Lhiannon and those glowing eyes as they silently waited for him to speak. Somewhere behind them was his friend, likely fighting to regain control of herself. Anders couldn't let her remain a prisoner in her own body. The opportunity to relieve her of this burden also had to be part of the consideration.

Which guilt would haunt him more: the guilt of replacing Valor like a broken staff, or the guilt of leaving his friend to wander within the prison of her body—experiencing all, but with no free will to act?

Anders took a deep breath as he sought to quash the whispers of caution within him. "Suppose I am interested in an arrangement—hypothetically speaking, of course, because I'm not entirely sure about this—how and where would this be done?"

Justice made Lhiannon's head nod as a small grimace crossed her face. "This would be an inappropriate place and time under the present circumstances." The expression on Lhiannon's face turned thoughtful. "Perhaps the place where we first encountered one another..."

"The Blackmarsh?" Anders asked, perplexed. "The Veil's tears have been sealed there."

Justice nodded. "That is true. However, after the pride demon known as the Baroness was defeated, her minions and thralls fought each other for control of her realm. Those demons who had sought to reopen the tears were drawn into the conflict. It still rages."

"Will you be safe venturing into the disputed realm?"

A small grin crossed Lhiannon's face. "I have survived the dangers of the Fade for time immemorial. No demon has defeated me yet."

Anders sat back on his heels and thought about Justice's offer. His spells would probably be like they were with Valor aiding him, an immeasurable benefit as part of the Wardens. Maybe they would be even stronger with Justice inside him rather than being in the Fade and aiding him from there. Lhiannon wasn't a strong healer; Jowan and Raelynn were serviceable enough, but Anders had always been the first mage anyone mentioned when healing was discussed. That was his strength and a source of great pride for him. Additionally, Lhiannon hadn't become a true abomination when Justice entered her, contrary to many of the teachings of the Circle and Chantry. Physically, she still appeared as she normally had, albeit with unnaturally glowing eyes. If that was the only side effect of the partnership, he might be able to live with it.

As he thought, Anders' mind turned to the drawbacks of such an arrangement. From what Lhiannon had inferred—and from some comments Justice had made—the spirit would be a part of him completely; know everything, feel everything, experience everything that Anders would. Justice would be able to manipulate his physical body and speak with his voice if he wished it. Unless Anders found a way, he would never be alone; never have a private thought. He may never see the world through his own, singular eyes again.

Was it worth it?

"I... I'll consider it."

Lhiannon's headed nodded. "Seek me out in the Fade..." Again, a grimace of what looked like pain crossed her features. One of Lhiannon's hands rose and rubbed a temple. "The Warden is demanding her body back. It is probably best that I acquiesce for the time being."

* * *

_This chapter's title is brought to you by, once again, Breaking Benjamin. Whenever I need to write some angst or conflict, that's usually the band I go to. "Give Me a Sign" seemed to be an appropriate title, so I ran with it._

_Many thanks to Suilven, Arsinoe, and Seika for their recent reviews. Also, thanks to Bainsidhe for her wonderful PM-it totally made my day! And lastly, but certainly not least, thanks to all of you following Lhi's story. Although it takes me a lot longer to update than I'd like, I still massively enjoy writing this tale. Thanks for taking time our of your day to read it! :)  
_


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